


Your Mark On My Skin

by zjemciciastko



Category: Motorcycling RPF
Genre: M/M, Mentions of Death, Sexual Content, Some angst, Soulmate AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-01-04 21:28:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 63,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12176886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zjemciciastko/pseuds/zjemciciastko
Summary: Valentino knows that different people have different types of marks, he’s seen a fair share of them. Some have symbols and need to play detectives to decode what they mean, some get quotes and some simply have names scrawled onto their bodies and don’t have figure out who their other half is, lucky bastards.His are always dates





	1. Chapter 1

Valentino knows that different people have different types of marks, he’s seen a fair share of them. Some have symbols and need to play detectives to decode what they mean, some get quotes and some simply have names scrawled onto their bodies and don’t have figure out who their other half is, lucky bastards.

His are always dates. 

He gets the first one when he’s seventeen and doesn’t notice it until a few days later because the mark is so pale it barely contrasts with the colour of his skin. 

It’s his first serious girlfriend, the first he actually dates and not just makes out with in the darkest corner of the club they’re both too young to be in. She has him wrapped around her little finger, completely smitten, and Valentino can’t keep his thoughts nor hands away from her for long. Not much time passes before he starts bringing her to the races, sharing hotel rooms and secret smiles to the disapproval of his team. When he wins that race in Brno, she’s there for him, biting on his lips and tugging on his hair, and on that day he feels like he has the whole world at his feet. 

And he falls hard, young love at its finest. 

But instead of it getting darker, there are no changes to the mark.

The problems start after less than a year, racing suddenly becoming an obstacle she cannot overcome. There are more complaints and less sweet words on her side, the demands to spend more time with her and less with the bike and she doesn’t understand that he can’t, won’t do that because motorcycles are his life. And she becomes a smaller part of it with each passing day. 

Soon, they break up and he becomes world champion for the first time.

There are no traces of a mark left on his thigh. 

*

He gets a few more of those barely-there marks, hopes that this time it’ll be different, that given some time, the pale dates will turn black and signal that he’s found the soulmate for real. 

They never do, but at this point he’s still full of faith that someday one of them will.

When one of his marks becomes a little darker, a shade, two at most, Valentino’s so ecstatic he almost kisses the guy in parc fermé after bringing another trophy home, the most valuable one this time. And in that moment he couldn't care less about another prize, he already has so many, but this newfound hope gives him all the energy, all the motivation to conquer the tracks and to earn that _greatest of all time_ and in Valencia he’s the one with the biggest amount of points next to his name. 

But not long after, the mark loses some of its colour again.

Valentino tries to revive it, at times even leaving the bike in the garage in favour of wearing masking clothes and dark sunglasses, renting cinemas and restaurants just so they can have at least a taste of what a ‘normal’ relationship is like. He offers his boyfriend the keys to a house not far from his own, contemplates tracing the mark with tattoo ink only to find out it isn’t possible, the skin there rejecting any kind of physical interference. 

It’s all of no use. 

The grey gets less greyish and resembles his complexion more, the visibility of the date deteriorates regardless of his effort and slowly it gets to him, that they don’t have much time left together. 

By the time the first winter test ends, Valentino’s single again. 

*

In 2011 Marco’s mark turns into a smudge, the numbers blurred beyond recognition. Valentino has a permanent bruise on the inside of his knee, a medium shade of grey staining his skin. 

*

Then, Linda appears and for the longest time he thinks, hopes she’s the right one. 

Her mark is dark from the beginning, dark grey showing up on the inner side of his elbow the moment they start dating, and Valentino doesn’t remember any of the former dates ever coming close to that shade. 

She has a small wheel behind her left ear, the same grey as his, and Valentino likes to joke that maybe she wasn’t meant for modelling. That she should’ve become a racer instead, feel the speed flowing around her, under her. Linda grins at him, eyes shining with mischief as she ties her hair up in a high ponytail, exposing the mark, and he rarely has enough self-control not to latch onto that spot with his mouth. 

It’s his longest relationship, all the others coming to an end at an earlier time, and by the time they hit the three years mark, Valentino cannot comprehend why the date on his elbow isn’t as sure as he is. Whenever his thoughts go to the future, a question about his retirement and what he plans on doing after appears during a press conference, an image of Linda by his side is what he always sees. And he doesn’t dare to ask if it’s like that for her, not yet, but one day he finds himself browsing rings, reading about gemstones. Unconsciously, he opens the page of his official shop and his eyes stay on the baby onesies that little bit too long. 

She’s also there for him when everything goes downhill and he’s left with the bitter taste of a lost opportunity. Second place, first of the losers. Again. And this time he wants to erase that part of his memory where the past month lays, pretending nothing happened. 

When she has him cradled in her arms, warm, flowery scent he almost gets drunk on and that little _#iostoconvale_ sticker on her designer bag, Valentino doesn’t know who to thank for putting Linda in his way. 

And somehow, even this comes to an end.

Suddenly everything is worse and they start communicating in shouts rather than words, sentences they don’t really mean thrown like daggers. 

They try to repair it, turn back the time, but there are wounds left in their hearts that don’t heal, even with the metaphorical stitches they attempt to close them with. With one fight too many, they, the two of them together, are gone, just like Linda’s possessions are gone from his house. 

Linda’s mark doesn’t fade away over time like the rest of them did, no, it disappears in an instant, on the next day he wakes up and sees untouched skin, void of any numbers, only memories of the ink swirling there left. And with losing that imprint, he loses a part of himself. 

*

At thirty-seven, he’s come to terms with the fact that he won’t ever have a soulmate, not a true one. 

The fate is laughing at him, mocking with all those marks, come and gone, his skin skin colouring and then paling repeatedly. Valentino doubts there will be another one after Linda, the one that left him shattered and he still isn’t done picking the pieces up. 

The wounds that relationship left are still fresh, his mind and heart hurting; he can’t help wishing it was the last one, no more possible soulmates never turning into real ones, no more heartbreak and smashed dreams. He isn’t sure he could go through it one more time. 

So when in the evening after the Catalan GP his leathers fall to the floor, body freed from the constricting material, he stops with one leg already under the shower spray, eyeing the charcoal print on his hip. It’s today’s date, the _fifth of June two thousand and sixteen_ scribbled in Arabic numerals and blood rushes to Valentino’s head because he knows it can only be one person. 

_No, that’s not possible._

In a way, it makes sense. Or rather it would’ve made sense, had it happened two or three years earlier, when apart from sharing the podiums, they also shared minds, more in tune than he’s probably ever been with anyone. But now, barely on speaking terms again, exchanging a handshake and an unspoken apology only a few hours earlier, seems like the worst timing ever. 

He scrubs at the mark, the rough side of the sponge irritates his flesh, red patches replacing the light tan, but the date is untouched, no matter how much he tries to erase its existence. It stands out no less than it did minutes before, the darkest colour Valentino’s ever seen. On anyone. 

In one of the drawers he finds a band-aid, sticks it on precisely so that every bit is covered and he can pretend there’s nothing there, that he’s free from any bonds beyond the friendships he’s formed and the love he has for his family. Maybe if he ignores it long enough, it will dissolve, discouraged by his lack of will to act upon it. It will be better that way. For him. For Marc. For the sport, because really, he can’t imagine the havoc the information of them being soulmates would’ve wreaked and how many of their ‘supporters’ would’ve armed themselves with more than just mockery and spiteful sentences. 

Marc seems to have a different idea. 

The hammering on his door is louder even than the music Valentino’s blasting through the earphones in hope of quieting his thoughts. There are only a few steps he has to take, but he wishes there were more, so that he wouldn’t have to lock gazes with Marc for a little longer. 

Marc’s hair is ruffled, curling at the top of his head, the shirt not buttoned properly, revealing a part of his chest and abdomen. He also almost trips on the undone shoelaces after he steps on one of them, Valentino catching him by the elbow to keep him from falling. 

Valentino lets him inside and braces himself for whatever Marc has for him. 

“It’s you,” Marc says. 

And Valentino can’t tell if it’s simply a statement or an accusation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I barely resisted the urge to name this 'Your Marc On My Skin', the temptation was strong.)
> 
> The Rosquez Soulmate AU I wanted to read, but no one else wrote, so I had to do this myself.  
> I'm feeling a bit unsure about this (and my writing in general), but since I already started, might as well post it? 
> 
> Like always, thank you for reading <3


	2. Chapter 2

The music still flows through the earphones, now laying on the table nearby the sofa they’re both sitting on, the sounds subdued and only audible due to the silence on his and Marc’s part.

It’s a wonder his legs didn’t give out when Marc walked in. 

A few hours ago everything seemed to be going better. A chance of maybe not going back to what had been lost in 2015, but perhaps no longer avoiding looking at each other and not mentioning the other’s name like it stung on their tongues. A chance for things to be normal between them. Professional, at least. And now, with this revelation neither of them could’ve foreseen, they seem to be back on the road to where they were before, heading into their doom, only for an entirely different reason this time.

The courage Valentino had when he offered peace and an end to their conflict seems like a far away concept now that he has Marc in his room, looking lost for words and lost in the world. 

Marc writhes, flexing fingers and cracking knuckles, and Valentino can’t help but grimace at the sound. 

He isn’t doing much better. He sticks hands in the pockets of his shorts to hide the trembling, unconsciously grasps the packet of the cigarettes he doesn’t find there. Only then, he remembers he’s ran out of the sticks after lighting one after another, hoping the smoke would cloud not only the room but also his mind. 

This silence irks him further and further. “You want some coffee? Tea? Water?” he offers, trying the good host impression, but Marc just shakes his head. Which is hardly a surprise, his own throat is so tight, he doubts any liquid could make in down through it. 

Whenever he tries to approach the topic that brought them in here, the sentences get stuck before they make it to his vocal cords. 

What could he say to Marc? Marc who’s probably expected anyone else but Valentino to be his missing half. Valentino whom he hated for the past half of the year. Maybe still does a little bit (He wouldn’t be surprised if Marc did.). He would’ve probably been disappointed in Marc’s place, too. Was disappointed with the marks before, but always for them disappearing, never for showing up. 

And _this,_ there isn’t any way this could end well. The fate made a horrible joke. 

With nothing to occupy his hands and mind, he counts the passing seconds not to gnaw on his own nails. Or rather what’s left of them after today, the ragged edges already bearing the marks of his teeth. It’s an ugly habit, picked up for the first time five years ago and one that has stayed with him in each anxiety-inducing situation ever since. 

It’s Marc who breaks the silence first. Valentino notices him turning slightly, lips parting, and his own breath hitches mid-inhale, air leaving lungs in a whoosh. 

“Can I see your mark?” Marc questions, raising his eyes. Stops scratching at his cuticle, a bit of blood showing up, and Valentino knows it won’t be comfortable to wear the gloves over it. 

He barely catches that sentence, the voice way below its usual volume and this quiet and calm looks wrong on Marc. Unnatural. 

He’s on his feet instantly, barely fitting in the narrow space between the sofa and the coffee table, knee colliding with the furniture as he rises. The shakiness is present in his hands when he takes one step closer; his fingers catch on the grey cotton and pull on it lightly, revealing skin and what’s etched into it. Some glue still sticks to his body after he rips the band-aid off; it will be a pain to get rid of. 

There’s a moment of hesitation, a few seconds of _oh fuck, I can’t do this,_ before he lifts his head and locks eyes with Marc. And what Valentino finds there, is not what he expected. 

Marc’s stare is almost burning, zeroed in on the date. Unmoving. Fixated on the mark. There’s no disgust Valentino awaited for, not the repulsion he assumed would be there, but the kind of fascination that has his voice catch in his throat.

The air wheezes in his lungs as Marc’s fingertips follow the numbers painted on his hip, tracing over each digit carefully. Marc’s fingers are cold, leaving goosebumps in the path they create on Valentino’s skin, simultaneously chilling and burning the flesh they slide on. 

The movement comes to a halt abruptly when Marc’s done with the month and reaches the ‘2’, first numeral in the year. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have..,” he backs away, as if he touched fire. Rubs his fingers, first together, against each other, and then on his jeans, attempting to get rid of whatever lingers on them.

Valentino brushes it off, like it didn’t mean anything.“It’s okay.” 

But it isn’t, the words not matching his thoughts. It’s not okay for the shivers to go through his body or the burning that’s still present even after Marc broke the contact between them. It’s not okay for the sparks to tingle his skin, those same he last felt when it was Linda drawing patterns on his flesh. 

His fingers loosen their grip on the shirt as it falls over the mark again. 

This time Valentino sits on the furthest part of the sofa, the armrest squeezing into his side. Marc is digging nails into his palms, teeth into the bottom lip, one of his feet drumming on the wooden floor to the rhythm of something only he can hear. Valentino needs to squash the urge to cover Marc’s knee with his hand. _To stop the tapping. Just this, nothing more._

For a while, he contemplates if he should ask. Ask Marc to show his mark, what binds them to each other. How he shows up on Marc’s body. It wasn’t offered, Marc didn’t mention returning of the favour, if baring the most important symbol craved onto him could be called that. But Valentino didn’t hesitate to do just that. So, in theory, Marc shouldn’t either. 

_I deserve at least this much, right?_

There’s less certainty and more tremors when he finally does ask. “Can I see yours?” 

“It’s only fair, I guess,” Marc sights, moving from the sofa, but that sentence ends in a tremble. 

A faint pink dusts Marc’s cheeks as he turns around, fighting with the button of his jeans. The question, _What the hell are you doing?,_ dies in Valentino’s throat when Marc slides both his pants and underwear down, just a little, a few centimetres. Valentino needs to lean forward to get the confirmation that his eyes aren’t playing tricks on him, distorting reality, but no, his vision is not wrong.

On Marc’s right asscheek black letters, ornate swirls, form Valentino’s name. 

It would be funny. Hilarious even, if he wasn’t so overwhelmed by the discovery. He’s never seen a mark located in such a place, not on himself, not on anyone else. If the situation wasn’t so serious, he’d have howled with laughter. But now, he can only follow Marc’s movements, zipping the jeans up then falling on the sofa again, face hidden in his hands. 

“I drew the short straw with my mark,” Marc chuckles humourlessly. Valentino agrees, even if knowing Marc’s opinion on the matter feels like a stab.

“The others were also there?” he asks, not only out of curiosity, but also in an attempt not to let that awkward silence fall again. 

He wonders how many of those marks Marc had. How many people were meant to fulfil the missing space and how many didn’t turn into what they should’ve been. How many disappointments Marc had to go through. Probably not many, Marc’s still so young, but at that age Valentino already had a few of light lines written on him. He assumes for Marc it would be like that, too. 

The answer startles him. “No. It’s my first mark.”

_What?_

“You’re serious?”

Marc’s eyebrows furrow and his fists close. “Yeah. Go ahead, you can laugh at me,” he spits the words, voice almost a growl, all defences going up. 

Valentino has no idea what to say to that. It would be a lie to say it isn’t surprising, not getting a mark until turning twenty-three. Everyone he knows got their first earlier. 

“I’m sorry.” He can’t tell what exactly he is sorry for. For Marc getting his mark so late or for his name being Marc’s mark. Or the place where the mark is located, because honestly, it’s ridiculous. 

The shrug of Marc’s shoulders is all he gets in response. 

“I’ll get us a drink,” Valentino offers, to get out of here, to not be in the same room with Marc. Get even a few minutes of solitude. 

It’s even worse than he initially suspected. The darkness of the mark brought shakiness to his hands and an uneasiness to his mind at first, but even though he didn’t want any more dates on his body, he is at least used to receiving them. And Marc isn’t. The first mark Marc ever gets and it’s Valentino’s name. 

_God, how you must hate me right now._

In the little kitchen adjoining the room he rummages through the cabinets, dismissing the cans of beer he encounters, moving them aside. They both need something stronger, something that could actually numb their minds and bodies. There was a bottle of vodka somewhere, he recalls. Or maybe it was whisky, there’s a vague image of a gold liquid in his mind. It doesn’t matter, the type of alcohol, as long as it’s able to burn not only their throats but also memories of this night. Preferably their marks, too, but Valentino doesn’t count on that much luck. It’s not something he has, not when it comes to soulmates. 

In one of the lowest cabinets, he finds some foreign alcohol, the words on the label written in a language he doesn’t understand. It’s too warm and probably tastes awful, but for now, it’ll have to do.

Before he steps out there once more, he needs to take a few deep breaths, air moving slowly through his respiratory system. And also to turn around, having forgotten about the glasses. He grabs them hastily, the vessels almost shattering when they slip out of his hands, caught in the last moment, barely above the ground. He isn’t ready to face Marc. He doubts he will ever be. 

Back in the room, Marc’s arm covers his eyes, hiding half of the face. 

Valentino cringes; the hold he has on the glasses and the bottle tightens involuntarily, isn’t far from shattering. It hasn’t happened in a long while, years probably, but in this moment he feels as if he got lost. In how Marc feels, in how he himself feels. With his previous _(possible)_ soulmates Valentino didn’t have to search for hints and clues, for anything that indicated it wasn’t repulsion they experienced whenever he crossed their thoughts.

With Marc, it’s nothing like that. 

_What do you do with a soulmate who wishes you weren’t meant for them?_

He counts the steps separating him from the sofa, is at seventeen when his feet reach the edge of the furniture. Carefully chooses the distance separating them when he sits down.

“Drink.” He nudges one of Marc’s hands with the glass, some of the liquid spilling on the sofa. 

Marc looks up, but it doesn’t seem like he’s seeing. “Thanks.” 

Soon, they’re after three more glasses, downed with an urgency intended to make their minds spin and tongues tangle on words. Marc’s already laughing, giggling really, something's very amusing about Valentino’s face, apparently. Valentino’s doing a bit better, senses slightly dulled, but not yet at that point where the balance is lost and inhibitions are gone. 

Marc throws an arm around him, almost sits on his lap. “What do we do now, Valeeeee?”

His words are slurred, Valentino doesn’t understand much from that babbling. Gets the shivers at hearing that nickname leave those lips again after so long. Marc throws _soulmate_ into every sentence, sometimes multiple times in one sentence, but understanding how he feels about the matter is not possible when he mixes the concepts and cackles roughly every thirty seconds. 

“I don’t know, Marc.”

He truly doesn’t. 

Valentino doesn’t know what to do with the mark. What to do with Marc. What to do with the way Marc’s leaning on him, head laying on Valentino’s shoulder, Marc’s fingers twisting into the hem of his shirt, the scent that goes to his nose, so different from Linda’s and yet evoking such similar sensations. What to do with himself.

So he pours another glass, one for each of them, and tilts it to his lips, in hope of waking in a different reality. Where him and Marc are good and there’s no date on his hip. 

And they get absolutely wasted, heads spinning, words tangling as much as their legs do. Marc leaves in the middle of the night; he trips over a pair of shoes standing by the door, the ruckus loud enough to cause a short-lived moment of clarity, quickly replaced by the percentage of alcohol circulating in their blood.

In the morning, Valentino has to clean the toilet bowl of whatever Marc had for dinner last night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How do you deal with a difficult situation? Well, Marc and Vale don't...
> 
> Thank you for reading and for the response on the first chapter <3


	3. Chapter 3

_Assen 2016_

Valentino scrolls mindlessly through the Instagram notifications, finger sliding over the screen. It’s not like he’s actually reading the words or paying attention to the attached pictures, but it serves as a good enough distraction. Works well enough to busy his mind with something else than creating scenarios of how the first meeting with Marc after the revelation could go. 

(None of them would end well, either way, he’s convinced.)

It goes on like this for a few more minutes. Until he comes across a picture, probably taken in 2014, of him and Marc in a tight embrace, the glee clear on their faces.

Valentino shakes his head a bit too fast, getting dizzy. 

Those memories are the last thing he needs right now. His mind is enough of a mess even without them and looking at the hashtags doesn’t help, either. Marc’s username is also mentioned next to his, #rosquez written along the multiple heart eyes emoji included in the post. 

_Had the mark showed up back then, maybe things would’ve been different._

He almost clicks on that profile, thumb already hovering over it, before there’s a knock on his door. Startled, Valentino pauses mid-motion as someone opens the room for a second, long enough to say one sentence but not more. 

“Vale, you need to go to the conference.”

“On my way,” he throws the words into the empty space, the speaker already behind the closed door. 

He’s too distracted to remember if that was Uccio’s voice speaking to him or someone else. Lin? Probably not. Has better things to worry about than whether Valentino is late to yet another press conference or not. None of the mechanics, either; they live in their own world and rarely talk to him outside of the garage walls. Uccio, it must’ve been, then.

Valentino presses a fist into his stomach, trying to squeeze it into his spine; it’s of no use, the nausea doesn’t leave. And it’s nothing like the one finding him on a race day, the anticipation that sharpens his senses and raises his concentration. It’s the paralysing kind that shakes his hands and turns the flesh of his legs into lead. 

In a hurry, he grabs the things from the table, stuffs phone and wallet in the pockets of his jeans. For a moment he can’t find his cap; opens the wardrobe, searches his bag. It’s not there, his fingers catch on shirts and pants and even misplaced sunglasses, but not the thing he needs. The sponsors wouldn’t be happy. The lack of the Monster logo on his head wouldn’t go unnoticed, there’s no doubt about that. 

Today is already turning into not a good day. 

In the end, the cap is found in the bathroom. Valentino has no idea why. He grabs on it quickly as the rattling on his door reminds him that he has to hurry once again.

In the conference room he’s one of the first to arrive, for once not being held up by people trying to tear on his clothes and run their hands over his body if only to get a second of physical contact. 

There’s no sight of Marc yet; it is both a disappointment and a relief.

For a few minutes he drums fingers against the table, earning a dirty look from Cal. Valentino waves it off, laughter with a too high pitch coming out. It’s so obviously not sincere, he could as well just write _nervous_ on his own forehead, the effect would be similar. But thankfully, Cal lets the matter go, doesn’t ask questions; raising suspicions is the last thing Valentino wants and needs right now. 

Soon, the rest of the riders enter the room. There’s a bit of a confusion and a commotion, changing places and moving around, something Valentino completely tunes out. He’s too focused on calming his heart, all the thoughts about Marc now back in full force.

Valentino has no idea how to act. If he should catch Marc after the conference and bring the topic up again in hope of finding a solution and a common approach towards their situation. But the last time they tried, the conclusion was that there was no conclusion. Marc leaving in the middle of the night was a rather clear clue on how he felt about the matter. And Valentino can’t blame him for that, really. 

(It’s not like he’s dealing with it all any better.)

So, waiting for Marc’s move, is what he decides. If Marc wants to talk, Valentino will. If not, well. The more he focuses on the rest of the season, the better for the championship. 

But of course he and Marc have to end up seated next to each other during the press conference.

The chair screeches as Marc pulls on the back of it before falling onto it. Valentino moves a bit to the left to make space for him, cringing at the sound of metal scraping on the wooden floor. 

Marc smiles at him and outstretches his hand. “Hi,” he greets. It’s more quiet than usual, not the loud booming Valentino’s used to. Or was used to, before Marc stopped sending any words his way.

Valentino takes the hand, maybe squeezing a bit too tight. It’s too hot, he feels too hot in this room and he’s sure it doesn’t have anything to do with the air conditioning. His skin burns under the shirt, near where the band of his shorts is, where what created another rip in his and Marc’s relation lays. 

“Hi.” His own voice resembles a croak, throat more dry than it was a minute ago. 

He wipes the sweaty palm on his shorts, hopes it’s more or less discreet. If Marc took notice, he keeps silent, doesn’t say anything. Valentino’s grateful. Their situation is bad as it is; there’s no need to make it any less comfortable than it already is. 

Marc isn’t evading his gaze, at least. Or talking to him, something Valentino kind of expected to take place. It’s a weak consolation, but in their situation it gains the meaning. 

One of the journalists fires the first question. It’s something hardly race related, much closer to an attempt at stirring some shit again. Valentino has to school his features into a neutral expression at it being directed at him. _Should’ve expected that. Now they’ll latch onto every opportunity to fuck everything up again._ The only upside is that he has to focus on her, not on Marc. Not on the dark eyes and the slightly pouty lips, the tongue slipping out to lick at them way too often. 

For once, he gets the answer right and can breathe more easily when he gets multiple laughs as a reaction. His body slumps against the chair when the questions move onto someone else. 

_If it goes on like this, I’ll get more grey hair after this season than I did in the past thirty-seven years._

Valentino lets himself relax a little bit when in the next few minutes no one pays any attention to him; his stomach loses some of its tightness and his legs fall from they knot they were wrung into, left knee pressed into the right one so strongly the blood couldn't circulate freely. 

And then his right leg spreads a bit too far, collides with Marc’s left. 

He pulls away immediately. Closes legs, knees touching once again, but what’s done is done and the warmth from the contact made with Marc’s skin is already spreading over his body. Valentino burrows nails into his palm to stop the blood from reaching his ears and cheeks. God, he doesn’t remember blushing for the last time, must’ve been years ago. 

“Sorry,” he mouths to Marc, praying none of the mics has caught up on this. 

If there’s one thing Marc’s not good at, it’s probably whispering. “No worries,” he says. Not quiet enough in Valentino’s opinion.

But he only nods at Marc’s reassurance. Can’t scold him for something that is Valentino’s to blame in the first place and maybe can’t scold him because the guilt is gnawing at him constantly. Even if the marks aren’t something he could take the blame for. 

For the rest of the conference his thoughts go everywhere, astray, questions barely registering, a vague noise somewhere at the back of his mind. 

Valentino flushes slightly when he has to ask the journalist to repeat the question for the third time. From the corner of his eye he notices Marc’s right eyebrow rising as he bites on his lip; Valentino waves frantically, a gust of air blowing over their faces, in an attempt to dismiss that suspicious look. Most likely not making it any better. 

He steals glances at his watch, playing with the band wrapped around his wrist. The time couldn’t move slower. He’s always hated waiting, a default trait in the job, but this is even worse than usual. 

When this torture finally comes to an end, Valentino literally springs out of the chair, on his feet in a second. Too fast. Watches as it falls to the floor, the ruckus so loud every single gaze is on him, some scrutinising, most just surprised. And, to make matters worse, when he tries to pick the chair up, he miscalculates the distance, head colliding painfully with the edge of the table.

For a few seconds he sees stars. And not the good kind. 

The world is spinning, the room spiralling in front of his eyes, and when he looks up there are two Marcs staring at him, concerned. 

“You okay?” The left Marc asks before Valentino’s vision clears and he stops seeing double. 

He jumps, almost hitting his head for the second time, when Marc places a hand on his shoulders. And withdraws it almost immediately, the contact lost, but the fleeting touch is still enough to send shivers through Valentino’s skin.

Slowly, he stands up, straightening his back. “Yeah, fine.” The back of his head hurts as he rubs it, trying to soothe the pain. There’s no doubt he’ll have a bump there tomorrow. “Been through worse.”

Marc smiles lightly. It seems a bit forced, a bit too tight at the corners of his mouth, not the showing of all of his teeth that’s so characteristic of him. Valentino lines up next to him to pose for the photo, judging how close he needs to stand not to make it awkward; too close and both of them won’t be able to feel comfortable. Too far and the speculations of their conflict not ending for real will arise in no time. 

In the end, he’s on Marc’s left side, arms a few centimetres apart. Safe distance. 

Valentino forces his features into his best media face, mischievous grin in its rightful position. The funny guy always ready to crack a joke in place. 

_Only a few more minutes and it’ll be over._

He blinks a few times, the camera flashes still blinding him even after all these years. Marc’s scent hits him, infiltrating his nose; it brings the memories of that Barcelona night immediately. How Marc clung to him, drunkness driving his actions instead of rational thinking. Valentino has to bite his tongue not to ask questions here and now, in front of the thirty or maybe forty journalists. 

They’d have a field day, Valentino thinks, finding out he and Marc are soulmates. 

When the conference is finally over, his shoulders drop, some of the tension leaving. His muscles relax slightly and his heart slows, returning to the regular rhythm. He has to put a lot of effort into hiding the relief that washes over him. 

Valentino stands still, waiting for Marc to move and get out of that room at last. “Go first,” he prompts. 

Marc turns, head rising abruptly. “Oh, thanks.” 

The sheepish look he adopts makes something in Valentino’s stomach turn and it’s not a feeling Valentino likes. 

*

Uccio looks up from the tablet, the can of beer still held in his hand. “What was that in the press conference?” His accusation is out before Valentino can enter the room properly, is still standing in the doorway when the question is fired. 

“What was what?” Valentino asks, clearly not in the mood for this questioning. He doesn’t understand the displeased look Uccio throws at him, the one normally used to scold misbehaving kids. 

“Marquez. He was touching you.” The disgust is easily distinguishable in Uccio’s words; the face he makes only adds to the effect.

_Not telling you was probably my best idea._

Valentino isn’t sure if Marc would’ve made it out alive had Uccio known about the mark. 

He shrugs, dismissing the whole occurrence. Nothing happened, except for him making a clumsy fool out of himself with millions of people watching. “He had a hand on my shoulder, for a second. It was hardly a touch.” _It’s not true. But it’s not something you need to know._

Uccio puts the tablet aside and rises from the couch. Those few strides he takes to face Valentino are fast, small steps at a rapid pace. 

He eyes Valentino suspiciously, the frown sharpening the lines on his face. “Be careful, Vale,” he warns. “He’s a fucking bastard.”

_Small, fucking bastard it was,_ Valentino recalls the exact quote, how the words were full of affection back then. So unlike those spoken by Uccio. 

“Sure, I will.” 

_And I will be, but not for the reason you think._

*

Valentino fights with the lighter, the fire dying immediately in the soggy weather. Not making it to the finish line feels even worse in Assen than on the other circuits. Not as bad as Mugello, it will take a lot to top that one, but the bike going one way and him the other tastes as bitter on his tongue as the fumes do. 

The walls of the motorhome hide him from the rest of the world, mostly. 

He doubts anyone else would be out right now, the sky already darkened by the time and weeping, dampening his hair and clothes. _I should be inside, too._ He hears Uccio’s scolding in his thoughts, sees the scowl pulling on the lips and brows. 

Valentino flicks the lighter once again, but the end of the cigarette stubbornly refuses to burn. His finger moves to give it another try, but the impact his shoulder suffers from being hit relaxes the hold he had on the items; they clang the moment they make contact with the ground. 

Marc stumbles, the deer caught in the headlights expression, the one his brother mastered long ago, on his face. He glances to the left, then right rapidly; Valentino thinks he might be looking for an escape route, a way to flee. 

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t expect to find anyone here, in this weather,” Marc justifies himself. 

Valentino glances upwards at the thick clouds, slowly moving across the sky. “I could say the same thing,” he counters.

He crouches, blindly patting the ground. The nearest street lamp is still too far to light what’s below his feet and his eyes aren’t good enough to see where the lighter fell. He has three or four more inside the motorhome, but he likes that one – its customised dark blue plastic with the yellow _46_ sticker glued to it. 

“You lost something? What? I’ll help you look.”

Marc’s knees are on the ground before Valentino has a chance to open his mouth. The denim covering Marc’s legs must be already soaking through, the water clinging to it along with the dirt, he concludes. Uncomfortable, definitely. “A lighter. Fell somewhere here.” He points roughly in the right direction. 

It takes Marc less than thirty seconds to find it and less than five to wipe it clean on his jacket. He pushes the lighter into Valentino’s open hands. “There you go.”

“Thanks.”

Neither of them moves from their spot. Marc isn’t kneeling anymore, but he shifts into a crouch, like Valentino. 

“Shitty race, huh?” Marc looks for something to talk about. Mentally scolds himself for choosing one the worst topics; it’s probably the last thing Valentino wants to chat about. Wants to erase the whole day from his memory, most likely, and yet here Marc is, reminding him about all of that.

Valentino pretends he doesn’t know which place Marc took exactly and how much time he lost to the winner. “Weren’t you on the podium? I don’t think that counts as shitty.”

“I was. I meant–” Marc presses teeth on his tongue, unsure if the words are safe to say. “– shitty for you.”

It’s too late and he’s too tired to have this conversation right now. Valentino presses fingers to his eyelids, hoping it will ease the stinging. It doesn’t. “Not the first shitty race, probably not the last. I’ll live.” 

“It’ll be better next time.” Marc tries weakly. Doesn’t sound very convinced. Valentino wonders if it’s because of the awkwardness floating around them, thickening the air, or if somehow Marc lost all the faith in his ability with handling the bike.

_The race will be better, maybe. Everything else, unlikely._

Valentino doesn’t grace him with an answer. He stuffs the damned lighter in a pocket, hands joining the plastic shortly. The cold is starting to seep through the material of his jacket, chilling the skin and forcing limbs into small tremors. From what he can see, not only his but also Marc’s.

Shivering, Marc pulls out a phone. “I have to go,” he says after unlocking the screen and checking the time; staying out so late wasn’t a part of his plan. “See you in Germany?” he questions more than states, as if any other scenario could possibly happen. 

“Mhm. I’ll be there.” Valentino nods curtly. “See you. Bye.”

“Bye.”

Marc disappears, the darkness covering his silhouette. Valentino stands there for a few more minutes, hand propped on his hip and rubbing it unconsciously. There’s very little conversations he’s had in his life more awkward than those he shared with Marc lately. He cannot imagine continuing like that and retaining his sanity. 

But there’s one little plus this time. 

_At least this time we weren’t drunk._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This seems pretty ironic considering today's results, but I wrote most of the chapter before the race :P
> 
> So, Marc and Vale are still convinced that the 'if I don't talk about it, maybe it'll disappear' strategy will work. Will it, really? 
> 
> Thank you for reading and for all your feedback <3


	4. Chapter 4

_Germany 2016_

Germany comes and goes. 

It _is_ a bit better than Assen. This time the points are added to his name, but the eighth place is hardly satisfying. 

Especially compared to Marc’s first.

And, to add to everything, Marc continues to act like nothing happened. Like the discovery wasn’t made and like they didn’t attempt to drown their feelings regarding the matter the following night. It probably is the best way. The least complicated one. And Valentino goes with it, returning the offered greetings and smiles, bottling up the questions his mind is full of.

They may not talk about it, but whenever they share the slightest touch, Valentino's skin, that part where the mark is, tingles, hair standing up, little sparks flowing through his nerve endings, telling him that _yes, he’s the one._

It hasn’t been like that with any of them before, never to that extent. The marks reacted, but the most he got was gentle tingling whenever they were touched directly, not when it was any other part of his skin. 

He wonders if it’s like that for Marc too. If Marc has to suffer receiving confusing signs from his mind, telling him to stay away from Valentino, interrupted by the body clinging onto the smallest contact between them. 

Valentino’s happy the race weekends are rather busy, that he doesn’t have too much time to think. That someone wants something from him all the time or else he’d have probably lost some of his sanity. Or what’s left of it. The worst thing is, normally the bike would be enough to distract him from problems and worries, making all else seem unimportant, but in this case, it has no power. Not when they’re both out on the track, passing each other, and somehow, Valentino can ignore everything but the bike with number 93 on it. 

_It might not take long to lose all of my sanity._

*

Luca looks up from above the telemetry sheet. It’s crumpled, with dog ears bending the paper and various notes scribbled all over the place, half of them not making much sense. He hoped Valentino could help him with understanding of the numbers and graphs, his results less than satisfying so far. It’s the rookie season, he knows, but the disappointment doesn’t taste any less bitter.

But Valentino in this state, body here, but thoughts obviously elsewhere, is not going be of much help, Luca concludes.

“So, what’s wrong?” he prompts. It’s rare to see Valentino this bothered. 

What he gets in response is a raised brow and a scowl contorting Valentino’s face. And it’s all Luca needs to confirm that what comes out of his brother’s mouth next couldn’t be further from the truth. 

Valentino tries to downplay his behaviour. “Nothing is wrong,” he says, faking nonchalance. His acting skills might work on someone else, someone who sees the outside shell and knows nothing about the man hiding inside. But not on Luca, who has seen it all before.

“Vale, don’t play dumb. Or rather don’t treat me like a dumb child. You said you trusted me, something changed?” There’s some exaggeration in the way Luca widens his eyes and puts on the hurt expression; he wouldn’t admit that practising in front of the mirror might’ve helped him with making it better. 

Valentino frowns at the dirty tactic Luca’s trying to execute. Dirty, but working; he can hardly deny Luca anything he wants, whether it’s something bike-related or an information, like right now. 

He stretches arms above his head, eyes glued to the rupture on one of the walls. “I got a new mark.”

The trust is obviously there. He’d trust Luca with his life, but Valentino still can’t stop the dryness in his mouth and the tremble of his lips. Can’t help rubbing on the mark through the shirt, the action having a calming effect, strangely. 

Luca’s face lights up instantly. His eyes are both wider and brighter, smile spreading; he seems as happy as when he received his own mark. “Oh, that’s great. Who is it?” He’s on the edge of his seat, about to burst from the badly hidden curiosity. 

Valentino wishes he could share the excitement. 

Craning his neck, muscles in a constant state of tension, he finally shares the name. “It’s Marc.” It falls from his lips quietly, like he’s afraid saying it out loud will finally make it real. Final. 

“I know you have a mark.” Luca frowns. “But whose?”

Valentino sighs. He’s kind of glad no one else knows and that he didn’t have to explain it to more people; the Marc/mark thing could give him a headache. “Marc. Marc Marquez.” _Marc Marquez is my soulmate._

It still sounds like an unfunny joke. 

Luca’s eyes go wide. “Oh fuck.” The swearword falls from his lips far too easily. _You should be happy mom isn’t here._ “Does he know it’s you?”

Valentino has to resist the bitter laughter from trying to escape.“Yeah”

Maybe if Marc didn’t know, everything would be easier. Or, the more likely scenario, nothing would be easier, but the awkwardness would only appear from Valentino’s side, Marc ending with confusion. Even more confused than now.

“And what?” Luca asks. He’s leaning forward, his body much closer now, Valentino notices. The glee is gone from his face, replaced with wary seriousness. 

“Nothing. He acts like nothing happened.” That drunken night is not something Valentino is willing to share, at least not now. 

He almost laughs at Luca’s expression. At times like this Luca’s age really comes out, the youthful naivety and faith in humanity not yet damaged by unpleasant experiences. It’s cute on him. Makes Valentino want to turn back the time to when it was like this for him, too. 

Luca’s hands rub on his temples. The skin there darkens, acquiring a red tint. “So what are you going to do?”

_What could I even do?_ “Nothing. Just go on with my life, like before.” 

If that’s what Marc wants, so be it. 

“But don’t you want to try? You know, after Linda–” Luca’s shoulders hunch at the glare he receives. Okay, maybe not the best topic, he should’ve known better. Should’ve known that some wounds hasn’t closed properly yet and that he shouldn’t scratch the still fresh scabs. His eyes soften, just like his voice does as he wraps an arm around Valentino’s shoulder, pulling him close. “Still not okay?”

Valentino shrugs. “I don’t know.” There’s something heartbreaking in that defeated posture, the indifference he pronounces the words with. In the way the confident man exchanges places with this one pressed to Luca’s side, looking for a way and not having an idea where to find it. 

It’s always been the other way around – whenever he was distressed Valentino tried to cheer him up with some silly jokes or big brother talks. Sometimes both. Sometimes smuggling him his favourite sweets so that their mother couldn’t see and be angry about Luca not eating the dinner. 

The roles have never been reversed, not up until now.

“Maybe you should give it a try?” Luca suggests, quietly, as if afraid of the reaction it might cause. 

The answer comes firm and unquestionable. “No.” 

The tension appears in Valentino’s muscles immediately; his back straightens to the point of no comfort, jaw tightening. The hold he had on the phone is stronger now than just a second earlier. 

There isn’t any way where trying could end up well. Or happen, in the first place. With anyone else, maybe, he’s charmed multiple people before, but with Marc it’s a vision impossible to fulfil. 

“Just think about it maybe?” Luca tries his luck for the last time, rubbing circles on Valentino’s back. Unsure if it does bring any kind of comfort, but not sure what else to do, either. “You know I just want you to be happy, right?” 

The _And now you aren’t_ doesn’t make it into the sentence but Valentino knows it was supposed to. 

He ruffles Luca’s hair, tangling the strands as they fall out of the styled form. The laughter at Luca swatting his hands away escapes on it own, for the first time this evening. “I know.” _You don’t know how much I appreciate it._ “So, how about you tell me about that new girlfriend you have?” 

 

*

Valentino can’t count how many cigarettes he’s smoked since that talk with Luca. Too many; the pack he just crashed in his palm was almost full not long ago. Every promise of quitting he made fades into nothing when faced with the calming effect nicotine has on his restless mind. 

_Just think about it my ass._

There’s nothing to be thought about, nothing that could ever come out of this. But he can’t stop his mind, the traitor, from conjuring images that shouldn’t have ever crossed his thoughts. Of himself. Happy, almost drunk on the joy spreading through all of his nerve endings. The black mark tingling pleasantly when Marc’s hand brushes against his accidentally before the touch becomes intentional and their fingers are laced together as Marc leans in with closed eyes and parted lips. 

But Valentino knows it won’t happen. 

So he’s standing with back propped against the cold metal of his motorhome and a tobacco stick held between his index and middle finger, once again.

And once again, Marc makes his presence known. 

This time, there’s no direct impact between their bodies, no collision, but Marc pauses mid-step and for a moment does nothing but stare. There seems to be some sort of an internal battle playing in his head; he might draw blood if he puts any more strength into biting on his flesh, Valentino suspects. 

“Fancy joining me in growing lung cancer?” he offers, shaking the ashes off and blowing out a cloud of smoke. It swirls as it gets into his nose, the smell clinging to his hair and clothing. 

The distance between them is lessening. Marc takes a few strides, quick and longer than usual, leans on the wall of the motorhome next to Valentino. “I’d rather skip the lung cancer part, maybe?” he laughs, though, it does sound a bit weak and maybe slightly forced. The cough escapes from his mouth when the fumes are inhaled into his lungs; Valentino crushes the cigarette immediately, stomping on it until the burning ceases. 

He didn’t think his invitation through. 

Frantically, he’s raking his mind for something, anything. A topic, he needs to find one since he already asked Marc to come over. He goes with the safest bet. Today’s race, how Marc was the first to cross the finish line, continuing what already became a tradition on this track. 

“Congrats on your win, King of the Ring.” And the words are truly genuine. 

When Valentino stretches out his hand, when Marc’s hand closes around his, when the touch happens, Luca’s words play on repeat in his mind. 

_Damn, why did you have to bring this up?_

“Thanks.” Marc tightens the grip, then looses it instantly. “It was better this time, wasn’t it?” he adds. 

Valentino needs a moment to catch up on what Marc’s saying; then, it clicks and the words connect with the conversation they had after the previous race. “Oh, the result.” The realization hits him. “A bit better, but I can’t be happy with it.” _And I bet you couldn’t be happy with eighth, either._

Germany will be another round to be forgotten.

(There’s too many of those this season.)

“Good thing I don’t have to worry about racing for the next month,” he says. The summer break does feel like some sort of a blessing. Time to rethink and recharge and put both thoughts and feelings into order. Focusing on what the focus should be on and tuning out all the rest, unwanted distractions. 

Marc seems thoughtful, opening mouth to say something, closing, then opening it again. “So, any plans for the summer?” finally, he asks.

Valentino can’t believe they’re having casual conversation about the summer break. Two years ago, even a year ago, it wouldn’t have been anything unusual, something they’ve done before, but now it seems a bit unreal. The thing is, he’s been so preoccupied with everything else up until now, that he has no plans. It only gets to him now that the next few weeks will not be filled with the preparing for another fight on the track, a routine that consumes the majority of his year. 

He blurts out the first thing that comes to his mind. “Party, no?” he laughs, but truth be told, the will to throw himself into a string of sleepless nights, deafening music and high alcohol percentage in the blood is not here. 

“Same.” Marc grins. And sounds more sincere than Valentino.

The conversation dies at this point. They’re both desperately searching for something to break the silence that has fallen over, but the ideas do not come to them. Valentino digs his heel into the ground, pressing that cigarette butt further into the asphalt. _Where are the times when we couldn’t stop talking?_

Marc’s in the middle of a word, must’ve thought of something, when incoming steps turn both their heads towards the sound. 

Luca walks closer, stops a few meters away. He regards them both, surprised; Valentino throws him a pointed look, the _don’t say anything_ laced into it. 

“Sorry, I’ll come back later,” he apologizes, more to Marc than Valentino. The corner of his lips is twitching slightly when he lowers head to reach Marc’s eye level and smiles. 

“No, no,” Marc objects a bit too loud. His protest sounds rather frantic to Luca’s ears. “I need to go anyway. Have a nice break, bye.” With a wave, he jogs away, leaving Valentino with Luca’s questioning gaze and a smile playing at the corners of his brother’s mouth. 

Valentino knows he’s not getting out of this one. “Come on.” He goes up the stairs, Luca’s soft steps following him, and pushes the door open. 

Inside, he opens another pack of cigarette and lights one up, not caring about the smoke spreading around the rooms. There’s a slight tremor in his fingers when he brings it close to his face, wraps lips around it, eyelids closing as the nicotine gets to his brain.

(With the amount of cigarettes he’s smoked because of Marc, his lungs must be full of holes by now.) 

“Sorry.” Luca scratches at the back of his head, pale red marks forming. “I didn’t want to interrupt you.” 

“No, no.” The hand Valentino puts on Luca’s shoulder is more heavy than reassuring. It’s as if the weight of this whole situation concerning him and Marc is transmitted into one gesture. “We weren’t talking about anything important.”

“But you were talking.” Luca points out. “And that is pretty important.” He sounds cryptic, like he knows things Valentino has no idea about, like he’s in onto some secret he’s not willing to share. 

Now that Valentino gives it a thought, it does feel important. Even if from an outside point of view, their conversations are more likely to cause cringing than anything else. Right after the Barcelona race he had thought they might go back to exchanging a few words in parc ferme or on the podium, if they both end up there. Later that night, he thought the talks between them might be no more. And now, his thoughts contradict each other, tangled into a mess of wanting Marc’s company and wishing for the mark to fade away, no evidence of the bond left. 

_I wonder how long we can avoid talking about our problem._

Luca hesitates, lacking confidence in saying what’s keeping his mind running. “Actually, I think Marc might not be opposed to trying, you know?” 

“Stop. Please.” Valentino breathes out heavily. The inhale he takes isn’t any lighter. His jaw clenches, one vein on the neck protruding as he attempts to ignore what just reached his ears. He doesn’t want to hear that. He’s not ready to hear that. He isn’t sure if he’ll ever be ready. 

Luca’s intentions are nothing short of good, Valentino knows. 

But he doesn’t plan on having his heart shattered once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more of the kind of boring stuff, sorry! But it needs to be done.
> 
> Thank you for reading, commenting and leaving kudos, it's the best motivation <3


	5. Chapter 5

_Brno 2016_

The summer break passes by in a blink of an eye, on too many thoughts that refuse to go when he’s laying in the sheets, trying to find dreams. In no time Valentino’s in Brno, thousands cheering him on again. 

This second place feels as good as a win.

It’s the first time since Barcelona when both he and Marc make it to the top three. They’re divided by Cal on the highest step, British anthem playing for the first time this season, sounding unusual after hearing the Spanish one almost all the time. The sounds get to Valentino’s ears but don’t register, flowing more next to him rather than reaching him. 

He can’t stop stealing short glances, sight wandering past Cal to where Marc stands. They’re brief, only a few seconds long, but frequent enough and with an intensity he hopes doesn’t get caught on the cameras surrounding them from all sides. Or noticed by Marc. Valentino can’t tell which of the two would be the worse option. 

Receiving the prizes is something he hardly pays attention to, the name of the person squeezing his hand forgotten quickly. He thrusts it upwards, arms straightening to show the prize to the audience, their cheers a music to his ears. 

It’s the best. 

For once, he forgets about marks. Completely forgets everything else but that overwhelming joy, the adrenaline that’s still flowing through his body, won’t stop for a few more hours. He’s almost drunk on it, intoxicated, inhaling the air that’s somehow different on the podium than everywhere else and it’s not the exhaust fumes making the difference. 

Being drenched in champagne hasn’t lost even a bit of its appeal. 

Valentino takes the bottle, shakes it up and lets the liquid spray whoever and whatever is in his close vicinity. No one is safe from his attack. Not the women in those clothes wrapped around them so tightly he isn’t sure they can breathe properly. And most definitely not his fellow riders, who receive the most of the damage. 

In retaliation, Cal and Marc direct two streams at him and Valentino exposes himself to it, basking in the feeling. 

The champagne gets everywhere – on his leathers, in his hair, some flowing down his face and dripping from the chin. His tongue swipes over the lips, tasting the alcohol, licking the droplets left there; it’s still the best thing he’s ever drunk. 

Valentino walks around, with no set direction, spraying the liquid on the fans, some more on Cal. On Marc, too. He takes a few more steps, so that the three of them are standing in front of each other, little distance between them. It’s Cal he first gets to, raising a toast, some more congratulations in order, before he turns. For a second, he pauses, arm suspended in the air; the way Marc smiles at him diffuses all of the doubts he just had and Valentino finds himself returning the gesture with no less force. 

“Cheers,” he raises the bottle and clinks it with Marc’s. The sound is drowned by the screams and whistles of the thousands of fans, but he barely hears them, tuning everything that further than a few meters away from him. 

For a moment it’s as if they got back in time. It’s as if nothing changed. As if they were back in 2014 where everything was good and nothing hurt.

(He can’t help wishing things were still like this.)

Marc’s grin spreads wide rapidly, overtaking his features. “Cheers,” he answers and takes a gulp, Valentino watching the motion of his throat attentively. 

When Marc turns around, Valentino follows his figure. His eyes slide down the curve of Marc’s back, the muscles hidden by the soaked leather, and then lower, to where he knows black letters are arranged in an order to form his name. Just a little below the place where Marc’s own last name is printed. His sight doesn’t remain there for long, however, as the awareness of literally gaping at Marc’s ass hits. 

Valentino sobers up quickly, covers the staring up by taking a sip of his own drink.

It must’ve been the podium that got into him, the joy temporarily switching off logical thinking and rational behaviour. It has to be that, it’s the only explanation of whatever has taken over his mind in that moment, focus lost and paying too much attention to Marc’s body. 

*

Later, when the high of being on the podium wears down and Valentino’s head hits the pillow, sinking into the soft material, he shuts eyelids tightly. The darkness envelopes him and perhaps, he hopes, not seeing will help in getting rid of what’s at the front of his mind constantly. Of those same images coming back, forming a loop. 

It doesn’t work. Marc’s silhouette gripping a bottle of champagne refuses to leave him. Against his will, Valentino goes back to Barcelona once again. Whenever he likes it or not, the scene where Marc sheds his clothes, fingers tugging on the pants and underwear, discovering skin marked with black, plays in his head on repeat. 

He pulls the blanket on his face, covering it from the chin up to the brows. 

_Fuck._

The sleep won’t come easily, Valentino already knows. 

*

_Misano 2016_

Austria’s result is hardly remarkable. Valentino still hasn’t decided what is worse – being fourth, so close to the podium, but not close enough or being second, so close to the win and yet too far. 

And then, Misano comes and it is even worse than usual. 

Valentino loves home GP’s, he really does, but at Mugello everything doesn’t remind him of Marco. There aren’t photos of a wide smile and unruly curls wherever he goes and _Sic_ mentioned by the commentators almost as often as the names of the riders currently forming the grid. 

At Misano, Marco is everywhere. 

And it’s the first year Valentino has to deal with it alone.

Linda’s hands aren’t sliding through his hair softly, whispering words that don’t hold much meaning, but somehow make everything a bit better. She’s not there to brush away the wet trails that form too easily on his cheeks and to act like a fence, separating him from the pain he doubts will ever cease fully. 

This time, he’s on his own. 

During the practice sessions it isn’t bad, his thoughts are occupied by the track and how the bike moves on it. Making the right line and remembering the braking points. But when there’s a break between them, it takes all of his strength not to lock himself up in the motorhome, hidden away from the world and its cruelty, having taken a life that was way too young to disappear. 

Valentino still gets out there, to the fans, to the screaming crowds chanting his name in the sea of yellow flags and shirts, And he’s proud of himself, that the cheerfulness he shows is only partially faked.

*  
The matters do get worse.

Right before getting out on the track again, Valentino finds some fashion magazine in his part of the garage, laying next to the helmet. He takes a closer look, wonders who could’ve left it there, then, sees a face he knows too well. 

He traces a finger over familiar features, dark hair and equally dark eyes, lips pulled to show a set of perfectly straight, snow-white teeth , 

“Her again?” Uccio grabs the magazine, frowns at Linda’s face smiling on the cover. “Get over her already, Vale. You can get thousands like her. Or find a fan, I’m sure they’re already lining up.” There’s no sympathy in his voice when he nudges Valentino’s shoulder, a bit too strong for it to be a friendly gesture. 

The nausea hits Valentino in the stomach at what Uccio’s implying. His hand goes to his hip without a conscious thought, fingers probably leaving marks from how much pressure he leaves on the skin. 

“Don’t feel like it,” he mumbles, head falling backwards. 

It’s not a lie. It hasn’t been a lie for a while now, no one has been in his sheets for more than three months. Ever since the date showed up and the bond was created. 

The irony is laughable. How whenever Valentino wanted a mark to stay, desperately clung onto it and the person it was connected with, each time it ended with disappointment and nights spent on drying his eyes, losing sleep. And how now he wishes for the exact opposite, but his plea is still not answered, and the amount of sleep he gets is only a bit bigger than it used to be back then. 

There is some truth to Uccio’s words; there were people, multiple approaching him, some of them hoping to share a single night, some of them counting on much more. But whenever Valentino as much as took a look, the weight in his stomach formed and the desire wasn’t there. 

Thankfully, Uccio lets go of the issue for the time being, the practice starting, but his sight burns Valentino’s back when he hops on the bike.

*

At the end of Friday, the silence has fallen over the paddock and it’s nothing like the hive it becomes during the day hours. The barrier Valentino’s leaning on digs into his back painfully; it’s almost welcome, distracting him from all else, if only partially. He swipes a finger on the screen, switches to another song, this one even more irritating that the previous. 

“Hi,” Luca greets, approaching slowly. “I thought you might want some company?”

There’s no verbal answer, but Valentino moves to the side, making a place for him. There isn’t much space, their knees and shoulders touching and the railing is pressing further into his spine. Might leave a bruise. Luca takes the spot beside him, but remains silent, waiting.

Valentino knows he should be the one to speak first, that Luca won’t mention the topic. On one hand, he’s grateful Luca doesn’t push, giving him time; on the other, having to bring _him_ up never becomes less difficult. “I miss him,” Valentino whispers. The voice is hoarse and he coughs a few times in an attempt to clear his throat. 

There’s no need to say who. 

The sky darkens, clouds covering everything within the sight and it’s almost as if it senses the mood surrounding them. 

Luca feels the change and his voice isn’t any louder. “I know.” He moves closer, wraps an arm around Valentino’s shoulder. He still isn’t the best at bringing comfort, soothing words. Making things better. But in that exact moment, he thinks this is what Valentino might need. What might help, even if not by much. 

Marco’s face still follows Valentino, like it’s been doing the whole weekend. Bright as ever and if Valentino shuts eyelids for a moment, it’s as if Marco’s presence were still here, with him, and not barely a greyish spot on his knee. It’s a fleeting feeling, but in those seconds a tranquil wave washes over thing, calming mind. 

The thing Luca would like the most is something he’s not capable of. He’s helpless, powerless, not able to do anything more for his brother. When he checks, Valentino’s staring at some point on the sky, fixated there and his eyes are glistening. 

Carefully, Luca pulls him a little closer. “But as cliché as it sounds, he’d want you be happy. Not mourning over him,” he continues. Firmly. Has an absolute belief in the words. 

When Valentino looks back, a corner of his mouth goes upwards slightly. “You’re probably right.” Luca fishes a tissue, offers it to him and receives a grateful nod. 

They sit there for some minutes, neither knows how long, phones and watches forgotten. Then, Valentino stands up, smoothing the little wrinkles that have formed on his clothes. 

He glances at the sky one last time.

_I hope you’re watching over me._

* 

Valentino tries, really does, but in a way, the weekend can still be counted as a failure. 

The nerves get to him. He has that second place, another to add to his already impressive collection, but instead of enjoying it properly, he can’t help but getting into another fight with Jorge. It’s the next stupid argument, another pointless bickering that doesn’t make anything better, but could make everything even worse. 

And it’s Dani who suffers from their inability to shut up when it’s needed. 

He walks around, searching for Dani’s motorhome. It’s in a different part of the paddock, it seems, away from his own, and it takes a bit of the to find where it’s parked. 

Before he knocks, his hands hangs in the air for a moment. Dani must be inside, there are some noises coming from behind the door. When it opens, Valentino finds a different person staring back at him.

Of course Marc is there, too. 

He should’ve expected that, Dani seems to be the closest to Marc out of everyone on the grid, so it isn’t really surprising they’re celebrating the top of the podium together. And Valentino knows when it’s the right time to leave. When he isn’t either wanted or needed. 

He turns, ready to go back to his own place. “I’ll come back later.” Their wary glances are meaningful enough to tell his presence isn’t welcome here. 

“No, I’ll go,” Marc says, pushing past Valentino. Their shoulders brush when he turns head to join their gazes. “You talk to Dani. And make things right.” The last sentence is whispered, quiet enough so it only reaches Valentino’s ears, leaving Dani unaware. 

Valentino gulps, trying to swallow the spit that has mostly dried in his mouth. Dani moves aside, leaving the door unclosed as he steps back further inside, Valentino following him heavily. 

On the sofa, inside the motorhome, Dani fires the first question, not bothering with small talk. “Are you here because of me? Or because of Marc?” 

The air wheezes out of Valentino’s lungs as he gapes, bewildered.

Despite his inconspicuous looks, Dani has an amazing ability of making him feels small, tiny, regardless of the difference in the stature between them in reality. He’s doing exactly that, crosses arms in front of his chest, taps foot on the ground to some kind of a rhythm and regards Valentino with uncomfortable scrutiny.

“You, obviously.” Valentino’s voice wavers a bit as he gets the words out. “Why would it be Marc?” 

Dani lifts the glass of water to his lips; the sign that he’s not going to answer is clear enough. “So, what did you want to say?” he asks, instead, and there isn’t any doubt that he expects answers in turn. 

Valentino needs a moment to collect his words. He wriggles, the sofa uncomfortable to sit on, despite the soft material.“Sorry. I didn’t want to steal your spotlight.” A pause to take another breath. “Congratulations on your win,” he adds, cautiously. 

The air leaves Dani’s lungs in a heavy exhale. It’s hard to tell at this point if he’s more fed up with Valentino’s behaviour or if it’s Jorge getting on his nerves more; probably both, neither of them should be engaging is such petty arguments. “You and Jorge should stop fighting already.”

“But he’s so infuriating.” Has always been. Or has he? Valentino no longer remembers when the first disputes started and what were their reasons. 

“He can be. Jorge and I were fighting all the time, remember?” Dani reminds, the memories from of their disagreement coming back. “And now it’s all good. You can repair broken relations and turn them into something good.” 

By the end of the last sentence, Valentino isn’t sure anymore that it’s Jorge Dani’s talking about. The accent Dani put onto it was definitely different to the one one on the previous words, rolling on his tongue in a special manner. _Are you saying what I think you’re saying?_

Valentino pulls his lips tightly, forming a thin line. “I’ll think about Jorge,” he declares, but it’s not Jorge he’s really thinking about, there’s another face showing up in his mind. He shakes his head, scolding himself for seeing things that aren’t there. It’s not like Dani could’ve meant anything else, he was always neutral, trying not to engage in Valentino’s conflict with Marc. So he wouldn’t imply anything about repairing what they had, either. No way. Right?

_Maybe I’m finally going crazy._

Dani, his good nature shining through, accepts the apologies along with the handshake. Valentino declines the offer to stay longer and share a drink, the mood isn’t right, and he bids goodbye, letting himself out. 

During the whole way back to his own place the gears in his head are turning intensively.

_Why the hell did you think I came to you because of Marc? Do you know?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for everything, guys <3


	6. Chapter 6

_Japan 2016_

There’s not much Valentino can say about this race. Just another retirement to add to the impressive collection he’s made this season, another zero points. And the one that rules him out of the fight for the highest prize for good. 

He wipes off the sweat that accumulated on his forehead and rubs the towel on his damp hair. The atmosphere is his part of the box is sombre. They try not to show it, but Valentino catches the disappointed frowns and the tightly pulled lips of his mechanics. The fake optimism _(there’s still the second place to grab)_ is on those whose acting skills are a bit better, but still not good enough to hide how they truly feel about the result, his loss equalling theirs, too. Apologizing is the only thing he can do, already did, and even though they pat him on the back and attempt a smile, it’s hardly a consolation. 

His eyes are focused on the screen, the final lap currently on, the race going on without him. There are three more turns before the winner emerges. Two. Then, only the final one left. And once again, Marc is the first to cross the finish line and add another world champion title to his name.

Valentino rubs his eyes in an attempt to get rid of the lingering tiredness. It’s odd, how knowing that he won’t get that tenth this year doesn’t bother him nowhere near as much as he thought it would. Sure, the disappointment is there, but compared to the last year, it’s dull. There’s no anger, no rage at losing again, just acceptance of how the things are. 

(Truth be told, he can’t say he’s surprised Marc won. Kind of expected it. And maybe he’s really getting too old for all of this.)

The team’s slowly starting to pack, hiding all the spare parts and cleaning the mess that seems to be an almost permanent part of the box during the races. The hurry is no longer there, their movements not having much pace. Being fast has ended for the day. 

Valentino remains sat, detached from the occurrences going on around him. His focus doesn’t change and when the interviews and the podium show up, he stares at Marc the whole time.

“Fucking bastard,” Uccio curses, his face contorting in an ugly grimace when the Spanish anthem starts playing. Some more profanities leave his mouth as he crosses arms in front of his chest and the tapping of his foot gets faster. It’s ridiculous, Valentino thinks.

The words are out before he thinks them through. The need to defend Marc comes from nowhere. Or maybe not from nowhere, he knows exactly where it came from, but there’s no way he’s telling Uccio that. It’s not the right time. If there will ever be a right time. “He won fair.”

Uccio puffs out a breath, the air swishing when he exhales. “Are you defending him? Seriously? After what he did last year?” The incredulity shows in his tone, the pitch of his voice higher than normal. “Vale, did you hit your head?” 

Valentino doesn’t get it. Why Uccio can’t let go, like he did. 

“We’re okay now.” _Not entirely true._ “No point in living in the past,” Valentino says, seeping the water hidden in the Monster bottle. He slurps on the last drops, the straw now only catching air, and the dryness doesn’t leave his mouth. 

Maybe, if not for the marks, they wouldn’t even be this awkward. Not the blinding smiles and tight hugs they used to share, because he doubts they’ll ever get back to how things were. But mostly normal. Definitely not at the war Uccio stills seems to be keen on continuing. 

He can almost feel Marc’s joy as the champagne gets everywhere. Can almost smell the beverage and experience the droplets that should be also on his skin. He has to squash the longing, the need to be there, up on the podium, tasting the alcohol and the sweetness that comes with hearing the crowd chanting his name. Somehow, he thinks, today it’d be even better. 

“At least Lorenzo is out, too,” Uccio mumbles, not even looking up from the tablet. The conversation seems over as he doesn't seem willing to change his opinion, sticking to what he thinks is the only right way of thinking. 

Valentino rests his head against the chair’s back, finally unzipping the leathers. They fall from his shoulders and the material gathers around his waist, creating multiple folds 

_You don’t get it, do you?_ The exasperation slips into his thoughts. _You don’t get racing at all._

*

Valentino unlocks and locks the screen a few times, undecided. Maybe it’s not a good idea. Maybe he shouldn’t, considering their situation. But he can’t see the harm in innocent congratulations and perhaps after last season, sending them would be the right thing to do. Appreciated. And, even if it’s not something he says out loud, not even to himself, he is kind of happy. Not because of his own loss, but due to the battles they had and no matter what, a good fight is something he always enjoys. 

(Valentino only hopes he won’t get too used to those second places. First of the losers and all.)

So, he types the short message, even adds a smiley emoji at the end. Writes the digits it should be send to without a second of hesitation. And it scares him, that he still knows the number he sent so many texts to in the past by heart. 

He doesn’t expect a reply, but can’t deny the hope of receiving one is there. Just a short thanks, one word response since Marc’s probably too busy being out, celebrating, to write more. He has every right to. Valentino doesn’t expect much. 

The phone is thrown on the bed, seemingly carelessly, but every few minutes the screen lights up as he check, if maybe he missed the sound of an incoming message.

In the end, the reply doesn’t come. 

_You must’ve deleted my number. And I’m not surprised._

Valentino has to convince himself that it’s something that he must’ve eaten and not the disappointment that weights in his stomach. 

*

The phone startles Valentino in the middle of the night. The shrill sound has him woken up in an instant, with a hand clutched over the chest as his heart rate rivals the one he has right before the lights go out. 

It might be be three AM or maybe four, with all the changing of the time zones Valentino isn’t sure anymore. When he looks at the screen, he blinks a few times, eyes not adjusted to the bright light. There’s no name attached to the row of numbers and it’s not a one he recognizes; at first, he wants to reject the call. Whoever decided to wake him up can go to hell. But then, something stops him. Very few people have his number – it’s private and not something he shares freely and generously; the caller must be someone he knows.

In the end, he swipes a finger on the screen and puts the phone to his ear. “Hello?” he murmurs hoarsely. He needs to clear his throat after not having spoken for a few hours to get it to its normal sound. 

The voice answering him is Marc’s.

He’s whispering _(must’ve finally learned how to do this),_ Valentino barely catching the words. “Hi,” Marc greets and it’s almost a hiss. “Open the door, please.” 

“What?” is the only thing Valentino manages to get out before he hears a beep and the call ends. 

He throws on the nearest shirt and some shorts, shivering at the cold blowing from the air conditioning. His steps are haste, the tiles cool below his feet. The lights are too bright, he needs to shelter his eyes with a hand for a few seconds to get used to the too strong light bulbs. When he reaches the handle and pushes it forcefully, there’s too much strength put into the movement; the door falls open, revealing Marc. 

His hair is rumpled and there’s some glitter shining on his cheeks, glimmering in the cold corridor light. He still has the “Give me 5” shirt on, though, it’s noticeably crumpled. The celebrations of him becoming the world champion again must’ve ended just now, Valentino concludes. 

"Hi." There's no explanation, only the greeting Marc shares, no more words spoken. Since he's not keen on either talking or moving, Valentino pulls on his wrist, dragging him inside the room quickly. The last thing they both need is to be seen together standing in the doorway of a hotel room. 

There’s no need to show Marc the way; Marc steps into the right direction on his own, the padding of his feet echoing in an otherwise silent room. Seems to know the layout perfectly. Maybe even stays in the same hotel, just in a different part of it. 

Valentino follows him, falls on the sofa wordlessly. Doesn’t wait for Marc to do the same, doesn’t need to. The sound of a body falling onto the furniture tells him that Marc is sat, too, before Valentino fixes eyes on the figure to his right. 

Billions of thoughts are running through his mind, each more confusing than the previous one. There’s no good reason for Marc to be here, especially at this hour, in the middle of the night. Right after becoming the champion. There are other people he’d like to spend the time with, surely, his family and the team. Valentino doubts he could be a wanted company at the moment. Or ever, probably.

He turns one of the small lamps on and regrets the decision immediately. It makes the atmosphere that little bit too intimate, creating some kind of closeness, something that he doesn’t need when Marc’s concerned. Marc and intimacy isn’t a good combination, especially when mixed with his shirt riding too low, exposing the collarbone Valentino has to force his eyes away from.

Quickly, he straightens his back and focuses sight on Marc’s face. And it’s no better, not for him. The glitter sparkles on Marc’s cheeks when he tilts his head to the side, brushes a hand through his hair. Valentino has to bite on his own tongue, because Marc’s skin is glowing in the dim light, there are some shiny specs on the plump lips and he really needs to go back to sleep, if this is something he takes notice of. 

There’s something else he has to occupy his mind with. 

“Congratulations,” he says and his voice sounds too loud for the hour. It’s something he genuinely means, even if Marc's victory is equal to his own loss.

“Thanks.” Marc scratches at the back of his neck, glancing to the side. He looks more shy than Valentino’s ever seen him, nowhere near the confidence he normally oozes. 

_Adorable,_ Valentino’s tired brain supplies. He banishes the thought from his mind just as quickly. Marc isn’t adorable. It’s not how he should think about Marc. The jet lag must’ve taken its toll, if this is what he comes up with. 

There’s a moment where Marc’s brain is working intensively, eyebrows scrunched. He frowns, before composing himself and finally getting some words out.“Can we talk?”

“Not the best time.” Valentino glances at the clock hanging on one of the walls. 3:46 AM and he has to be at the airport at nine. And talking right now doesn’t seem like the best idea, considering the directions his mind’s wandering to, too dangerous, going too far. 

Marc tries to hide the disappointment, but it shows on his face either way. “Sorry. Some other time, then. I’ll go.” He’s ready to leave, most likely go back to his own place, already on his feet. The first step is already taken, when Valentino speaks up. 

“No, wait,” he stops Marc’s movement, pats the spot on the sofa, next to him. All it takes to change his mind is the expression Marc wears, one that looks dangerously close to hurt. Marc rises an eyebrow questioningly in turn. “I won’t be able to fall asleep immediately, anyway. Might as well talk.” 

And Valentino indulges Marc in what he wants, finds himself unable to deny the request.

Marc doesn’t seem convinced. It takes another of Valentino’s encouragement for him to sit down, the sofa sinking under his weigh, back hitting one of the many pillows. 

And when he does, it might be a bit too close.

Their knees are touching and Valentino feels warm skin against his, brushing gently and sending billions of little sparks through the mark. Instinctively, he wants to close his legs, break any kind of contact, but doesn’t. It would look unnatural. Things are awkward enough between them; there’s no need to make it worse. So, he stays still, the rising and falling of his chest the only movement, as he waits expectantly for whatever Marc wants to share with him. 

“Okay.” Marc moves so that they’re facing each other now. The area of contact between their skin increases; Valentino swallows what little spit is still left in his mouth and tugs on his earring, so that at least one of his hands is busy, the trembling unseen. 

“So, why you’re not celebrating? No stamina left? Age starting to get to you already?” he tries to joke, but it comes shaky, unstable. 

The laugh he receives is too high in the pitch. “Yeah, I’m no longer so young and promising,” Marc grins, but it barely shows in his eyes. 

The tension is clear in the air and it’s different to the one Valentino’s been experiencing for the past few weeks. This one is almost prickling his skin and there’s this type of a weight in his stomach that hasn’t been there for a while. Marc showing up in the middle of the night can’t be anything casual. Especially not right after he won the title once again and should be anywhere else but here. 

They exchange a few more meaningless comments, jokes that would’ve been a lot funnier, if they weren’t tinted with nervousness.

It’s obvious that there’s something on Marc’s mind, bothering him. If the late visit wasn’t enough of a hint, then the staring at his nails along with the avoidance of looking at Valentino definitely is. “You know, apparently Uccio doesn’t consider me a true champion. Someone equal to you. He said I was just a kid who had your posters on the walls.” And the unspoken _Do you think so, too?_ hides in the slight slump of his shoulders and the sight he focuses on his feet. In a way, he looks like a different man, not the one who was standing on the podium barely a few hours ago. 

_What?_

The atmosphere changes in an instant. The air is thicker, somehow heavier in the lungs. Valentino needs a moment to process the words, to understand what just happened and what he heard. “Uccio said that?” 

“Yeah. It was some interview, I think? I don’t know, that’s what Alex told me.” 

_Unbelievable._

“You won the championship, therefore you are the champion. That’s it.” Valentino pauses. Maybe it’s the horrid hour or maybe it’s the lack of sleep that is making the decision. Maybe both, in equal parts. But this honesty seems more than necessary in the moment and he speaks exactly what is on his mind. “You’ve always been a worthy rival. Never just a kid who had posters of me on your walls. I’ve always considered you an equal, ever since your first race.” 

Marc rises head abruptly. Blinks a few times and doesn’t manage to hide the surprise in time. His lips part a bit, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Valentino, but it’s quickly exchanged for a smile that graces his face. 

“Once again, congratulations.” The hand Valentino places on Marc’s shoulder goes there on its own. 

He shudders when the mark acts up again. This time it’s not the usual tingling, but flaming up, the burn kind of uncomfortable, but not to the point of being painful. _Please, don’t. Not right now._ The last thing he needs at the moment is a reminder that he and Marc are supposed to be meant for each other. 

“Thanks, Vale.” There’s a smile curving Marc’s lips as he sits up straighter. It’s not the wide one, the full set of teeth he shows whenever there’s are cameras pointed at him and he’s the centre of the attention of thousands of people. This smile is more subtle, more genuine. More meaningful. Valentino fights the itch to swipe a thumb over his lips, wipe the glitter away. He sticks hands in the pocket of his shorts. Just in case. 

_Get a hang of yourself. Get your shit together._

Talking right now really wasn’t the best decision. 

Unnoticed, Marc inches a bit closer and puts a hand on Valentino’s thigh. Gets a startled face and questioning eyes in response. All of Valentino’s muscles tense, his posture getting rigid and the touch feels heavy on his flesh, even though there’s barely any pressure at all. 

Marc leans in closer, their eyes locking, and his tone is much more serious, nothing like it was a moment before. “Listen, I can’t go on like this anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I'm still emotional after the last race, I hope there are too many typos in the chapter haha)
> 
> So, Marc can't take it anymore and it seems like they're finally heading somewhere...?
> 
> Thank you guys! For reading, for commenting and for giving kudos <3 It means the world!


	7. Chapter 7

_So, that’s it._

The blood rushes to his head, the pulse thumping in the ears, and the nausea is already creeping into his stomach, heavy weight settling in. _Should’ve expected that,_ Valentino exhales loudly, hands closing tightly, _should’ve known it all would bite me in the ass sooner or later._

The words are like a deja vu. A sentence he’s heard before, though, in a different context. 

Or maybe not that different, really, as they’ve always been _the words,_ the _this is the end, let’s sever whatever ties we had with each other_. And Marc probably wants to do just that, finish their relations before they could turn into something. Not like they would have, actually. Not after everything that happened. 

“Right,” Valentino says, because what more could he do?

Marc straightens his back, one of his hands falling heavily on the coffee table. “No, it isn’t right. Nothing about this situation is right.” _Ah, there it is. The ‘I thought we could be friends again, but it turns out we can’t’._ The other hand is gone from Valentino’s thigh as he clenches it into a fist, his whole expression changing. 

The moment the touch leaves, the skin under Valentino’s mark numbs, the burning sensation lost immediately. 

Gritting teeth, he wills himself to calm down, not to let all those emotions that have been boiling inside him since June out. Not necessary. He needs a cool head, not this. But calming himself is hardly working and the late hour doesn’t help, only intensifying the mess that’s grown in his mind because of Marc. 

“What do you want me to do? Say I’m sorry? I’m sorry you ended with me as your soulmate, but it’s not like I had any influence on that. And you were doing pretty good at pretending it didn’t happen,” Valentino barks, so tired with marks. With soulmates. With never being good enough to actually be someone’s soulmate. And he knows he can hardly blame Marc for not wanting him, he’s worked for that, but it still stings. 

Marc turns to face him, the lines on his face harder now. “You made it pretty obvious you didn’t want anything to do with me. What did you expect me to do?” His voice is raising, but it isn’t stable, almost dying in his throat once, what he covers with a badly faked cough. 

_Here we go again._

Whatever (little) hope Valentino had for them being normal, amicable again, begins to fade quickly. 

“Wait, what?” Upon hearing Marc’s words, his jaw drops a little. “You got drunk and then left in the middle of the night. How is any of that my fault?” _Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have given you the alcohol. Maybe that part is on me. But the rest? No way._ It’s not even anger Valentino feels, it’s more of a confusion and the need to defend himself. Because, like every time, it’s always him to be blamed. Somehow, everything seems to be his fault. 

With him and Marc the emotions have always been strong. Running too deep, not welcome, not in their world. First, the unlikely friendship they developed and then the anger that blinded them both and took their reason, rational thinking they wouldn’t have lost had it been someone else involved. And in spite of them being older, it seems like they still can’t be just colleagues from work, rivals on track, civil off track. Now, with the added burden of the marks, it’s even less possible.

“Well, how would you feel if your supposed soulmate didn’t want you?” Marc almost yells, his voice reaching a dangerous volume, but the way it is trembling, not much, would probably go unnoticed if not for the quietness of the night, stops Valentino in his tracks. 

_What the hell?_ “What?” 

“Your mark. You had a band-aid on it.” Marc points to his hip, a finger outstretched in the direction. “The message was pretty clear.” 

Valentino did. In that moment of being absolutely fed up with not having control over who he should be with and who shouldn’t, he stuck it on his hip in hopes of forgetting. Pretending there wasn’t anything there and that he was a free man, not bound by anything. And, obviously, it didn’t work, his foolish belief quickly shot down. But it was only once, gluing that patch. After having Marc’s touch on his skin, following the numbers scribbled there, he never thought of repeating it again. 

And Valentino hears it, how Marc tries really hard to hide just how much it affects him and fails; doesn’t understand where it’s coming from. 

Suddenly, all the annoyance leaves and his head falls against the sofa heavily, eyes closing as he tires to rub the tiredness away from them. “I had a few marks before this one.” His hand rests on his hip unconsciously, stroking little circles on the spot. “And they never ended well. I was always left feeling like I no longer had a fixed place in the world when they disappeared. Like it didn’t matter if I was here or there, dating this guy or that girl, because no matter what I did, the result was always the same. The marks leave and the people leave with them.” 

They always do. 

He’s been burnt too many times.

That confession, revealing thoughts and feelings he’s carefully buried, stored away up until this point, costs him more that he’d like to admit. The memories resurface, all the hurt and disappointment he had to face before is coming back in painful waves squeezing his head. Groaning internally, Valentino searches for eye contact, needs it for the next statement. “It’s not your mark I didn’t want. I didn’t want any at all.” 

The sentence echoes against the bare walls, his voice jumping off them. He risks a glance to judge the reaction it earns, but it’s not what he expected to witness. 

“I’ve waited my whole life to get one.” Marc scratches his nails on his jeans, pinching the material. _You must be pretty upset it’s me._ “I thought there was something wrong with me. Everyone had a mark. Alex got his first when he was fifteen.” The voice grows quiet, words mumbled rather than spoken. “Only I was the odd one.”

Valentino feels as if the air got knocked out of his lungs. Sure, he knew he was Marc’s first soulmate, but the bright grin and the cheerful air Marc’s always seemed to wear could’ve fooled anyone. There were no hints, no indications, no nothing to show the turmoil he must've been going through even before they became connected

 _Or maybe I was too blind to see it, thinking that the mark affected only me._

He has to stop himself from reaching out. From patting Marc’s head and maybe embracing him and telling him everything will be alright, because for the first time he sees Marc looking crushed. Wreaked. The shaking of Marc’s shoulders and the sudden gasps for oxygen he desperately tries to hide by covering his mouth. And it’s not a look Valentino likes. But he remains still, holding arms close to his body, because he knows everything won’t be alright. Real life isn’t a fairytale, he’s learnt the lesson long ago.

 _It’s ironic, isn’t it?_ Valentino thinks. _Me being fucked up because of the marks and you being fucked up by the lack of them._

It takes a bit of time, maybe five minutes, maybe fifteen, before the shudders shaking Marc’s body cease and his breathing regains its regular rhythm. Valentino doesn’t know when all of his muscles tensed, but the relief spreading through him now is kind of a surprise. He stretches legs, hitting a knee on the coffee table, too low for his liking. There will be a bruise, without a doubt. 

“You know what’s weird?” Marc gets his attention back again. The words sound stronger now, but the cheerful tone isn’t there yet, still subdued. “We were so good together before 2015. I wonder why the mark didn’t appear back then. Maybe things could’ve been different between us?” The glance Marc throws him is not only questioning, but maybe laced with a hint of disappointment, too. 

Valentino knows why. Knows whose sign decorated his skin back then, back when there was no conflict between them and when he thought he wouldn’t have to go through the process of finding another almost soulmate ever again. 

He shrugs, not having an idea of what would’ve been _if._ “I don’t think you can have two valid marks at the same time.” The term _valid_ brings the bile up his throat. “And I had Linda’s mark back then.” 

The realization hits and Marc nods, tongue swiping over his lips. “Makes sense.”

(Valentino has to force himself not to follow the path it traces.)

Does it?

He supposes it does, has never heard of anyone having more than one mark simultaneously. 

Not getting into any further details, he glances at the clock once again, because the hour is getting more and more ridiculous. He covers the escaping yawn and hopes that maybe Marc will get the hint. Maybe he will let go of the topic, for now at least, and the rest of their talk will be postponed to some other date, best if a much later one. 

But Marc, like usually, doesn’t act according to Valentino’s expectations. _I honestly don’t know what I counted on._

“Can I see it again?” Marc asks, instead of deciding that maybe going back to his hotel room would be the better thing to do; Valentino feels his eyes on the place where the date is hidden beneath the material of his shirt. 

For a moment he hesitates, unsure if he should agree. Remembering the last time it happened, how Marc’s fingers were sliding over his skin and the sensations it evoked, Valentino doesn’t consider it to be a great idea. He’s ready to say no, to decline, the words already on the tip of his tongue, but then Marc looks up, eyes round and so, so hopeful, that Valentino’s knees grow weak and if he wasn’t sitting, he probably wouldn’t be able to keep the balance. 

Cursing himself for never really being able to deny Marc what he wanted, his hands move to pull on the fabric, crinkling it in the process. “Okay.” 

This time there’s no cover on the mark, nothing hiding it from Marc’s sight. Valentino’s used to people staring at him wherever he goes, a part of the job, but somehow Marc has him squirming under that gaze once again. They’re closer than they were that time before, too, and the scent of a familiar cologne reaches him, along with Marc’s knee digging into his. 

“It’s so dark.” Valentino notices the amazement once again, Marc’s reaction the same as that first time. It’s like he barely believes someone can bear his mark, that fate finally has given him someone to fill the empty space. It’s so different from how Marc is on track, this insecurity, disbelief that there could be someone for him. 

It is kind of a shock. 

It brings the memories back, reminding him of the time he received his first, how back then he believed he’d have someone to share his _forever_ with. And the disappointments that followed. This naive innocence Marc seems to emit with his whole being, not yet disturbed by the knowledge that _no, it’s not you, either_ is almost painful. 

_If we’re really so similar, you’re in for one hell of a ride._

He’s ready to loosen his hold again and let the shirt cover the date when Marc speaks up again. “And with her? Linda? What was the colour?”

The exact shade appears in Valentino’s mind. “Dark grey,” he answers truthfully. Why Marc wants to know this, he doesn’t get. 

“Strong,” Marc whispers, still fixated on the mark.

“It was. Didn’t matter, she left either way.” Valentino blinks rapidly, trying to chase away the images of rings and baby clothes. White dresses and riding off into the sunset on the bike in the cheesiest vision he’s ever conjured. Something he knows won’t be fulfilled, something that wasn’t meant for him. And he’s so glad for the academy boys, at least partially filling the space he had booked in his heart, reserved for a son of his own and someone he could call a better half. 

“It faded away? Her mark?” Marc tilts his head, eyes scanning Valentino’s form as if looking for that mark that is long gone from the pale skin. 

_You’re not going to find it._

“Disappeared instantly.” 

Marc frowns. “I’m sorry.” He looks genuinely apologetic, maybe even some pity showing up on his features, pulled mouth and brows. It’s annoying. Irritating and something Valentino doesn’t want to see. 

“A thing of the past.” _Just like all the others,_ Valentino stops himself from spewing. Not something Marc needs to hear again. Not something anyone needs to know, how big of a failure he actually is and how many times he willingly offered his heart to someone only to have it returned with unhealed wounds and newly formed scars. 

He rubs circles on his temples, attempting to soothe the ache spreading rapidly through his brain. There’s nothing he wants more than finally going back home, to Italy, to the Ranch. To the safety of his own house, where he can barricade himself and forget about the problems, even if only for a short while. And to think it’s only the first of the flyaways. 

“I wish we were like before,” Marc shares, more with the floor than with Valentino. His sight is fixed on the greyish rug as his foot moves on it, leaving some of the dirt that clings to his shoes on it. 

_Sounds like wishful thinking._ “I’m not sure that’s possible.”

Marc picks his head up. “I think it is. The marks must be here for a reason.” Valentino senses the _Right?,_ Marc searching for agreement, approval, acceptance of the words. He moves closer, palms now placed firmly on Valentino’s knees as he supports himself on his arms. “We just need to work on it and everything will be good. We'll figure it out.” Leaning forward, he gets even more into Valentino’s personal space. “And I want to try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cliffhanger! Please, don't kill me? And in the end Luca was right, Marc isn't opposed to trying!
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	8. Chapter 8

_Phillip Island 2016_

“Here.” Luca places a glass in front of him, the liquid inside sloshing and splashing against the transparent walls. The sparkling water hisses quietly, little bubbles bursting; there’s some alcohol in the cabinet, the hotel provided plenty, but it’s probably the last thing he needs right now. 

Valentino’s joints crack when he stretches his arms, rolling the shoulders forward and backwards in hopes of getting rid of the muscle ache that took over his back and neck. Those years when he could go three nights with little to no sleep are gone, probably not coming back, and he can feel the whole season in his bones, the exhaustion not only physical but also emotional. 

Bringing the glass to his lips, Valentino tries to buy himself some time by drinking slowly under Luca’s watchful eyes. One little sip, a break, and then another. There’s no way out of this questioning, that much he is sure of, but postponing it in hopes of calming himself before spilling everything to his little brother seems like a good idea, if a little bit silly. 

He must’ve gotten really bad at hiding his thoughts and feelings, hiding that not everything is the same as it used to be barely a few days earlier. Luca senses that really well and sometimes Valentino forgets he’s no longer a little boy with no idea how the world works. Not the cute, naive kid that could be fooled with the most silly joke, puffing cheeks in anger. (That faded quickly, turning into a fit of giggles when Valentino started tickling his sides.) 

_How they year have passed by? When did you grow up so much?_

He must be really getting old. 

Placing the glass on the table, he tugs on the strings of the grey hoodie, pulling on one and then the other. It’s not that cold, but the Australian air feels more unpleasant than it usually does. More chilly, getting through the thin material way too easily and prickling his skin. Or maybe it’s just him, the nerves eating him before sharing the events of that night in Japan. 

When the question arrives, it still surprises him how his little brother connects everything to Marc immediately. 

“So, what happened?” Luca pushes him to the left with his hip to have enough space to sit. “It’s Marc, right?”

One glance at his little brother is enough to tell Valentino that no lie will be believable enough to convince Luca that no, it isn’t about Marc. Convince him that the past few months haven’t been revolving around Marc and mostly not in the racing context, when in reality the title wasn’t his main concern for the first time in years. 

The leather sofa creaks when he shifts, straightening legs and crossing them at the ankles. “Yeah. It’s about him.” 

Valentino recalls that night, images forming in his mind and appearing in front of his eyes. Images of Marc’s eyes, even darker than usual in the dim light of room, but wide open despite the late (early?) hour. Of the glitter shining on his lips and scattered on his cheeks like glistening freckles. Of how Marc leaned in, invading Valentino’s personal space first with his scent and then with the warmth of his body, hands almost burning his bare knees. 

And how his brain switched off after all those unexpected sensations. 

The burning mark was hardly noticeable, tuned out by the racing of his heart, thudding against his ribcage loudly, and the rushing blood, temporarily impairing his hearing. All the rational thoughts evaporated as Marc stared at him, way too close for comfort. 

Valentino shares the story with Luca, omitting the majority of the details, talking more about the words he and Marc exchanged rather than how it all made him feel. Talking about the late night visit. How they almost got into another argument. Marc’s confession, the one about waiting the whole life for a mark to appear, is something he doesn’t mention. Too private. He doubts Marc would want him to speak about those fears that seemed so intimate to Luca. So, he keeps it to himself, bound by some sort of loyalty that may or may not have to do something with the mark they’re connected by. 

And finally, the last thing he says is how Marc told him he wanted to try. 

“You told him yes, right?” Luca questions, but the doubts can clearly be heard in his voice. He must already know, Valentino guesses. No surprise. It isn’t hard to guess that he most likely fucked up another thing in his life. When was the last time he did something right, now that’s a much better question. (A one he doesn’t have the answer to.) 

He remembers how, as suddenly as it started, everything ended, with Marc picking himself up and fleeing, the noise of the slamming door along with the shouted _Sorry_ finally waking him up from the stupor. 

The bubble he had found himself in, away from the whole world except from Marc, burst, leaving him no less startled than Marc’s actions had done. 

“No,” Valentino denies, playing with the zip of his hoodie. Up and down, zip and unzip and once again, the sound irritating, but the movement having a calming effect. “That’s the thing. I didn’t say anything, I just watched him leave.”

He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t want to see the disappointment that surely makes its way onto Luca’s face when the soft _Oh, Vale_ leaves his brother’s mouth. 

*

Finishing the race on the second place doesn’t bring Valentino even half of the happiness it should.

Sure, on the podium he acts like usual, he has to, but seeing that _Marquez out_ on his pit board did unpleasant things to his stomach. The grin isn’t sincere, not fully, at least, and he needs to force himself to fake some of the usual enthusiasm, because there’s one thought that’s been gnawing at his mind ever since he saw that sign. 

_It’s not because of me, right?_

Marc wouldn’t let something like their last encounter bother him. Not possible. He’s always been so focused on the racing, mind set on the goals and tunnel vision; it couldn’t have been the reason for the crash, Valentino refuses to believe it. Someone as strong as Marc wouldn’t.

That's what Valentino repeats to himself when he traces the darkened skin under his eyes and the little wrinkles he doesn’t know when he acquired. The cold bathroom lighting is making him look particularly bad. Pulling on the skin doesn’t smoothen it and it’s not like he counted on it, that’d be be another level of naivety, but watching how it folds back again is kind of disconcerting. It’s not something he’d say in an interview, but the past year has taken its toll on him, more than he lets on. And the changes show up on his body, both unwelcome and unexpected. The season coming to an end is a relief, a chance to disconnect from the races, millions of eyes following his every action. From soulmates and marks. 

_From Marc._

(But this disconnecting thing isn’t working well so far as the guilt for possibly being a reason of Marc’s crash refuses to leave.)

*

Pedrosa appears out of nowhere.

He’s waving a hand, trying to disperse the smoke coming from Valentino’s cigarette, swirling around and clinging to the clothes and hair immediately. He frowns when it proves to be ineffective, little wrinkles forming around his eyes and lips, nose crinkling. _Cute,_ Valentino thinks, _if only he didn’t look like he wanted to murder me._

____

The air has already lost some of its warmth, slight breeze sliding over their skin and messing the hair, the strands being moved by the soft blows. Valentino’s elbow slips from the railing he’s leaning on and he rises the head abruptly not to hit his chin on it. Additional bruises, more than he already has, or worse, losing some of his teeth, are not very high on his _wanted_ list.

____

“Your hotel is somewhere there,” he says, pointing to the left, but Dani doesn’t find the remark funny. Shame. Valentino could’ve used a smile directed at him right now. Or solitude. That could’ve been fine, too. 

____

Dani’s judgemental stare is something he could’ve done without, though. 

____

There’s a single cloud moving across the sky slowly, almost lazily, soft edges trying to form some shape. Cumulus? Or cumulonimbus maybe? He isn’t sure, never paid much attention to the things that didn’t hold his interest. It looks almost like a bike, though, if he squints and ignores the front wheel that resembles a square more than a wheel. It’s almost like him, appearing in the lives of his soulmates and then disappearing from them not long after, forgotten immediately when the next cloud is on the horizon. Because he’s the square that should’ve been a wheel, instead. And no bike can move on squares. 

____

Valentino can’t find the energy to talk, trying to distract himself with following the clouds. Dani seems irked by his lack of will to start the conversation; the relaxation is gone from his face, eyebrows knit tightly, and his voice lost the pleasant undertone. “I talked with Marc.”

____

That’s it, that one sentence is all he lets out, but it’s enough for the knot to tie itself in Valentino’s stomach, tightly. _So you knew even before. I wasn’t getting paranoid._

____

He tries to play dumb, pretend he has no idea what the talk might’ve been about. The chance of Dani believing is slim, hardly existent, but he needs to hold onto whatever he can while he still can. “You’re teammates," he points the obvious out. "It’s pretty normal to talk to each other.” _Even if it isn’t really normal for me and Jorge._

____

One look at Dani is enough to tell that the dodge didn’t work. “You know that we talked about you. And there’s only one thing I want to know." Dani pauses, as if he's hesitant about the next words he intends to let out. "Is it about 2015? It’s about your title?”

____

The cigarette falls from Valentino’s fingers and lands on the asphalt among some little rocks. _The title? You think..?_ The thought is so absurd, that Dani actually believes he didn’t agree ( _but also didn’t disagree!_ ) to Marc’s offer because of the grudge that is long gone and forgotten. Something he hasn’t really thought about for a long time as he let go of it the moment their palms touched back in Barcelona. 

____

(Maybe Dani also thinks this is some kind of twisted revenge, a ploy to play with Marc’s feelings, for Marc playing with his race a year ago?)

____

The fact that Dani considers him capable of stooping so low is worse than getting hit in the head and stomach simultaneously, even if having gotten punched is exactly how he feels right now. The anger rises quickly and it takes a lot of his effort not to lash out and scream in Dani's face what this is really about. He fishes out the packet of cigarettes, picks one more out, and it takes a few tries to light it up due to the tremors of his hands. 

____

“Fuck no,” Valentino spits, disgust underling the words. Dani must’ve caught it, too, as some of the tension evaporates from his stance and expression and now it’s more curiosity mixed with disappointment he’s radiating. 

____

“So why, then?” 

____

_It’s pretty clear why._

____

After taking a moment longer to answer, Valentno's voice barely breaks the silence. “He’d regret it quickly. He’s not into me.” He lets out a puff, manages to breathe an almost perfect circle; this little trick he learned years ago still works. “He’s just into the idea of someone having his mark.” 

____

_And I can’t have my heart broken again._

____

Marc’s words, how he had waited his whole life for the lines to appear, they told him everything. Valentino doesn’t need to have it spelled out any clearer. Him or anyone else, it probably hardly matters to Marc as he finally has the proof that there is nothing wrong with him. 

____

“I knew you were getting old, but I didn’t think getting blind was a part of the deal,” Dani snarks and in this moment he looks nothing like the sweet, shy man everyone seems to think he is. Valentino coughs on the fumes, lungs filling with too much, too fast. He hasn’t heard that sarcasm directed at him in a while; he isn’t sure if he’s missing it, nostalgia taking over his thoughts, or if he could’ve gone the rest of his life without it. 

____

He stops himself from throwing a glare at Dani, stepping on the cigarette with the sole of his shoe instead. “Did you know it’s his first?” 

____

“I know,” Dani answers, less amused with every second. Valentino rearranges the cap he’s wearing, feeling uncomfortable under this scrutiny he’s not sure he deserves. “I was there to hold him and cheer him up when he broke down after Alex had gotten another mark. When Marc still had none. I spent four hours on trying to get him back to his normal self.” 

____

_You’re joking, right?_ Valentino wants to ask, because the image of Marc breaking down is something he cannot fathom. Not Marc. Not the guy who’s probably stronger than all of them, it’s not possible. 

____

Taking the cap off his head, Valentino kneads it, uncaring about the state it’ll be in. “This just proves my theory.” It does. It throws him off, but at the same time confirms his suspicions as to what Marc's motives might've been when he told Valentino he wanted to try. It’s a testament to the fact that Marc’s only concern is being marked and the person on the other end of the bound is not so important. 

____

_I’m not important._

____

This has never happened to him before and the taste of it is more bitter than of any loss he suffered on the tracks. 

____

In turn, Dani literally face palms; the inner side of his hand hits his forehead with a slapping sound. The image would be quite comical, the exaggeration too much, but Valentino doesn’t feel like laughing, at all. “No, it doesn’t. Go talk to him, Vale.”

____

No answer, silence on Valentino’s part. 

____

“It’s black, it’s it?” Dani tilts his head and guesses right. “You know it won’t disappear just like that. Give him a chance. Give yourself a chance, for fuck’s sake.” 

____

The curses are surprising, not something usually found in Dani’s vocabulary. “It’s just...” Valentino doesn’t know how to explain it without revealing too much. Without sharing the insecurities he can barely admit to himself. And telling Dani everything, how big of a failure he actually is when it comes to soulmates, that’s something he’d rather keep to himself. Let the image of ‘a man who has everything’ be the one seen by everyone but the few chosen ones. 

____

(No matter how far from truth it actually is.)

____

He squats to pick up the cap from the ground after it has fallen from his hands, trying to brush the dirt away, but the are some dark patches left of the yellow fabric, anyway. It lands on his head again, put on backwards, and Valentino wishes he hadn’t left the sunglasses on the table in the hotel room; he could’ve covered his eyes not only from the rays of sun but also from Dani’s heated gaze. 

____

Frustration finally getting the better of him, Dani restores to talking using the only way they both fully, completely _get._ “Did you give up every time you didn’t win? Every time you didn’t end on the podium? Whenever you didn’t finish the race?” They’re more accusations than questions, like bullets fired from a gun, with an intention to make an equally big impact. 

____

Valentino stays silent, stubbornly refusing to speak. He gets where this is going, what point Dani’s trying to make, but it’s not the same. Racing and soulmates aren’t. There’s so much wrong with what Dani’s trying to tell him, with the analogy, when the two cases are not comparable in any way. 

____

Running a hand through his hair, Dani lets out a tired breath. “So, why you’re giving up on your soulmate? Why you’re giving up on Marc?” 

____

Valentino thinks if Dani could, he would’ve shaken him with all that surprising amount of strength he hides in the petite body. The clenched fists are good enough for a hint. Same with the disapproving shaking of a head, as if it _(he)_ were a hopeless case. Which is probably true. He isn’t sure if Dani expects a reply or if the questions were rhetorical, but even if they weren’t, he doesn’t have an answer he could share. 

____

“You wouldn’t be here-" Dani gestures towards the track, "if you gave up so easily, would you?”

____

It’s the last sentence before Dani walks away without any goodbye, leaving Valentino with his thoughts and with the gnawing sense of maybe not having done the right thing.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update! Not sure how I feel about this chapter. I hope it wasn't as big of a mess as Vale is at the moment. 
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	9. Chapter 9

_Sepang 2016_

The whole morning before the race Valentino’s trying to force any kind of food down his throat so he doesn’t faint on the track, the heat, the leathers clinging to his skin and the empty stomach a dangerous combination. 

He falls on the chair heavily, guts twisting whenever he as much as takes a look at the table. They’ve already formed a knot when he takes one of the plates and wonders what to place on it. In addition, the importunate thoughts are swirling in his mind, the attempts at blocking _those_ memories are as futile as ever.

His gag reflex activates whenever his teeth sink into anything and he’s glad there aren’t too many people around. Not many to witness him in this state, struggling with breakfast, poking everything with a fork rather than eating. Picking it up and then placing it back on the table. Seeing him spit the half-chewed food into a bright pink napkin must’ve been quite the view, too. 

Slowly, Valentino puts the slice of bread back on the plate, ignoring Uccio’s inquiring gaze completely. The disgust must be painted on his face clearly. That’s what he assumes when one of the waiters flees to the kitchen in a hurry after their sights meet barely for a second. Feeling slightly guilty, he tries to school his features into something more neutral, but isn’t sure about the end effect. 

He grabs the nearest bottle, the plastic cold and damp under his fingertips, and pours himself a glass, drinking the cold liquid hastily. At least the water goes down. It’s something.

“Vale, eat something.”

The fork Uccio’s holding is coming dangerously close to his mouth. There’s some dish he doesn’t know the name of on it and it looks like some weird kind of seafood, something he wouldn’t want to eat even on a better day. _Are fucking kidding me?_ Is Uccio really ready to _feed_ him? 

_Maybe you’ll even do the ‘the plane is coming’ thing?_

Lord help him, that’s something Valentino could never stand. 

Scoffing, he pushes Uccio’s arm away. “No, thanks.” The answer comes rougher than he intended, not a hint of pleasantries laced into it, but his patience is wearing thin rather fast. 

He’s been called old too many times to be treated like a child now. 

Not listening, Uccio tries once more, filling the plate with everything the buffet offers. There’s some fruit, the skin already peeled off, as if adult men couldn't do it on their own, and at least six types of cheese, poorly arranged into a smiley face. (The snort is not something Valentino can withhold.) He gives up only when Valentino gives him a telling glare, _Don’t try,_ showing what he thinks of the attempts, and the cutlery clinks after being put away. 

There’s enough Valentino has to deal with even without Uccio’s good intentions. 

But his problem hasn’t ceased to exist. 

In the last attempt at filling his stomach, Valentino chews on a few race cakes, their taste bland, almost like paper. It’s of no use, he can barely swallow the pap that's in his mouth. There’s no way he’ll be able to eat anything more. His body’s protest is clear enough. 

He pulls the chair out with a screech, the sound ringing in his ears. There’s not much time left until the warm up and he still needs to find a way to calm his churning stomach down. Racing in this state can’t be good when all he wants to do is to lock himself in some secluded room with a trashcan held in hands. Just in case.

Leaving Uccio in the restaurant, Valentino slowly steps into the direction of the boxes, hoping that he won’t throw up into the inside of his helmet in the middle of the race. 

*

In the end, that second place is better than what his expectations were, but it still feels kind of insufficient. It’s not the highest step of the podium. It’s not enough. It’s not what he hoped for, what he worked for. And he failed yet again, failed to climb there, on the highest step of the podium, and pay the respect how he wanted to. 

But it’s too late now, so he’ll have to postpone it to another year. 

The cooldown lap is dragging much more than usual. The adrenaline is still coursing through Valentino’s body, amount raised well above the normal limit, mind working at the highest speed, hyper aware. He notices a few bikes passing him, streaks of various colours flashing on his right and left, but barely paying attention to those on them. There’s only one rider occupying his thoughts at the moment, there’s no space for anyone else. 

When the front wheel of his M1 loses the contact with the asphalt, Valentino glances at the sky, blinking away the dampness that has accumulated in the corners of his eyes. His throat is so tight the air can barely pass through, and he needs to breathe through the open mouth, lips trembling slightly. 

_I’m sorry I couldn’t win for you._

And he’s sure that Marco wouldn’t care whether he was first or fifteenth or if he didn’t get any points at all. But that one win here that he’s been trying to get for the past five years is something Valentino desperately wants. Something he craves, something he’s been working for especially hard. 

But like usual, the place is simply unlucky. Cursed, maybe. 

Passing the next turn, with the corner of his eye Valentino notices that the bike next to his is also wheeling, only the back tyre touching the hot asphalt. The red and orange are unmistakeable. Dani passed him by maybe half a minute ago, so it can’t be him, and that means one thing. That leaves out Marc as the only possible person. 

Valentino closes the eyelids for a second in an attempt to calm himself down. His grip on the levers tightens and he’s glad the wet trails on his cheeks could be mistaken for sweat, the scorching heat useful for once. 

Marc is...something else. There was no doubt about it from the beginning, from the moment they first fought together, against each other on the track. But outside the races it doesn’t change, either. Valentino has a hard time looking forward and not glancing at the Honda constantly, a difficult time controlling his emotions. He manages, barely, but he does. 

And during the whole time there’s one thought occupying his mind. 

_Do you want to lose him, too?_

*

_Valencia 2016_

Valentino checks himself in the mirror for the nth time, looking for the stains that might’ve made it onto his shirt. Thankfully, there are none. The material is spreading over his body, tighter than what he usually wears, but, objectively speaking, it looks good. Fits. The stray curl though, the one that hangs on his forehead instead of fitting nicely with the rest, is something he doesn’t know what to do with. He doesn’t have any hairspray and sure, he could call for someone to get him a bottle, but somehow this _dressing up_ thing seems the tiniest bit embarrassing.

So, he pulls on the lock of hair and watches it bounce back into its original shape. “Shit,” he curses and gives up, the effort not paying off. 

It’s hardly believable he’s doing all of this to _impress_ Marc. Who probably doesn’t care and wishes he could have a better soulmate, someone better looking, nicer. Younger, most likely. But showing up at Marc’s motorhome looking like a slob seems so wrong, considering what Valentino wants to talk about. 

Sneaking around the paddock after the last race of the season is probably one the dumber things he’s done in his life. Because he’s Valentino Rossi, going to Marc Marquez’s motorhome. If it ever got out in the public, Valentino’s sure he’d be accused of trying to execute a sabotage. Get rid of one of his biggest rivals, their past feud brought up again. Because surely, there isn’t any other plausible reason, there couldn’t be, right? 

He laughs at the absurdity of the situation, imagining the faces of all those ‘fans’ priceless. 

_If only they knew._

Before he gets out, Valentino checks everything in the nearest vicinity three times. Hopefully, it’s late enough. The sun has long set and the paddock’s mostly void of people, a lone shadow here or there, so the chances of getting recognized are probably slim. Being caught on the cameras is something he’d rather avoid at all cost, all the gossips that would follow unnecessary. 

When he reaches his destination, he knocks softly, not sure if he hopes that Marc answers the door or for the opposite to happen. It’s not much different than those last few minutes before the lights go out. The nervousness is almost the same, the anticipation and preparing to react any given second. But observing the red lights and waiting for the colour to fade away is much easier than waiting for the handle to turn, revealing the person hiding inside.

God, Valentino really hopes it isn’t Alex who opens the door. 

There’s a creak and the light from the inside of the motorhome escapes through the crack, falling on his face. Despite it not being cold, his hands lose all of the warmth and he’s digging the nails into the palms, unable not to.

Marc is staring back at him, clearly confused.

“Good race today,” Valentino says, because racing is something he can always talk about. Something he knows. Something that connects them both and something they view the whole world through. And, aside from that, he’s mostly at the loss of words.

Confusion changes into a frown as Marc sticks his head between the door and the metal frame. “You didn’t come here to congratulate me. I didn’t even win.” 

_Not the best excuse, that’s true. It’s not like I can tell you everything here, in front of your door, though._

Ignoring the statement, Valentino takes the last step so that they’re on even level. “Can I come in?” He tilts head downwards to meet Marc’s line of sight and prays that the sincerity shows on his face. “Please.” 

The sound of the steps can be heard, alerting them both to someone’s presence incoming, quite fast. Marc looks around, then disappears inside, but the door hasn’t closed and Valentino isn’t going to miss such a chance. He’s already in too deep and any chance of not going through with the plan was gone the moment his knuckles hit the metal door. 

Plucking up the courage, Valentino follows Marc’s path to the little kitchen, almost tripping over his legs on one occasion. 

Marc’s back is propped against one of the kitchen cabinets, head leaned backwards and hands gripping the counter tightly. The metal handle must be digging into his back, Valentino assumes, but Marc’s not paying any attention to it, seemingly lost in his own word. Valentino follows the lines of his nose, sharp jaw and the angles of his cheeks. The exposed neck, one of the arteries pulsing with the blood flowing through it, and the movements of Marc’s chest, expanding and then falling a tad too rapidly to be considered a relaxed manner.

It’s only when Marc’s gaze fixes on him and the words ring against the walls that Valentino sobers up. “So, what?”

_If only I knew._

He’s planned the speech, trying to choose the best words to convey what he wants to say to Marc, but they’re all gone now, having slipped away he doesn’t know when. He clears his throat, as if that could be of any help, but finding his voice proves to be a difficult task. The way Marc’s foot is tapping against the floor clearly indicates his patience is coming to an end; Valentino is aware that it’s him who has to make the things right and if he doesn’t do it not, another chance may not be there to take. 

Shuffling feet, his shoes screeching against the floor, he finally lets the first words out. “So, Japan.” 

There’s no reaction, spare the slight rise of Marc’s eyebrows. _You won’t make it easy for me. Can’t say I blame you for that._

A part of him wants to back out, go with the idea that Marc doesn’t remember what happened. That perhaps he was tipsier than Valentino had thought and all that was said lacked the serious factor, could be blamed on the alcohol talking. The theory is way too far-fetched, though, something even he can’t really believe in. 

Tugging on one loose thread in his shirt, Valentino rips it out forcefully. In the first moment, he wants to drop it to the floor, but decides against it. Littering in Marc’s motorhome won’t make anything better. “We haven’t finished our talk. I didn’t give you the answer,” he speaks, finally. The thread is wrapped tightly around his index finger, the black colour contrasting with his skin. 

Marc opens the fridge and takes a bottle of water out; the hissing sound that resonates when he unscrews the cap makes Valentino cringe, every noise seeming much louder than normally. “Took you long enough to remember about it.” He takes a big gulp, lips wrapping around the plastic and throat bobbing with the movement. 

Valentino almost reaches out to grab a hold of the bottle, too, his own mouth feeling as if it were full of sand. “I know.”

He doesn’t have any excuses. Doesn’t want to have any. 

The declaration throws Marc off a bit, as if he expected some kind of defence on Valentino’s part, an attempt at an argument maybe. It can be seen in his expression. Instead of retorting with a comment he probably had prepared in advance, he remains silent, and Valentino misses his normal talkativeness. Greatly. 

(His own got lost somewhere along the way, too.)

Trying to form his thoughts into a logical sentence, he steps closer, legs shaky and not fully supporting his weight. “True. But I needed that time.” A pause, another step. “My experiences with marks hadn’t the best, I told you that.” _Even if I didn’t tell you everything._ “Just...sorry.”

 _And it all will probably blow in my face either way, but somehow I’m still here._

Marc smiles crookedly and the expression looks so wrong, so foreign on him. “At least you know what it’s like to have a soulmate.”

Valentino bites on his tongue, teeth sinking in, not to retort with _And I know what it’s like to lose them all too well._ The words are barely held up, not a sentiment he’s ever shared with anyone, and the fact that Marc’s dangerously close to dragging them out of him fills Valentino with a sense of discomfort. 

Too engrossed in his thoughts, he almost misses what else Marc has to say. 

“Okay.”

It’s quiet, below Marc’s usual volume, but lacking any hint of a joke or resentment.

Surprised, Valentino lowers his head and scans Marc’s face. It’s only one word, but Marc smiles at him the same way he had been doing it before everything went to shit and for a second Valentino forgets how to breathe. Hoping for that turn of events and actually counting on it, seeing it happening are two different things; he kind of expected Marc to tell him to go to hell or maybe not even let him in the motorhome, so this definitely comes as a surprise. 

Marc’s ability to go beyond whatever predictions Valentino has is as astounding as ever. 

But this time those four little letters don’t fix everything, they’re not enough. _‘Okay’ what? Okay, apology accepted? Okay, you still want to try?_ Does Marc really think _okay_ solves everything once and for all?

 _Okay_ hardly answers anything at all. 

Disappointingly, Valentino doesn’t get the chance to question further what Marc had in mind as the ringing phone interrupts their conversation.

Fishing in the pocket of his pants, Marc answers, switching to Catalan immediately. It’s rapid-fire, sentences melting together, and while Valentino catches some of the meanings, lacking the context prevents him from fully understanding whatever the discussion is about. 

Awkwardness increasing, he tries to block Marc’s voice out. He checks his own phone, the screen lighting up, but for once, there are no messages, no mentions, no missed calls. Nothing to occupy his hands and mind with. He goes for the web, flicking through the tabs that are currently open, but they can’t hold his attention for long. Not when he can barely focus, too many scenarios, _what ifs_ and _what nows_ filling his mind. 

Thankfully, soon the call is disconnected and once again, Valentino’s graced with all of Marc’s attention. 

Marc, honestly apologetic, rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, but Alex will be here in a minute,” he explains, tongue peaking out and swiping at the dry lips in an attempt to moisten them; Valentino’s eyes follow the movement thoughtlessly. There’s no glitter on them time and this time his mind isn’t influenced by being awake at some ungodly hour, but he simply can’t look away. Some force is pulling him closer, and this one idea appears out of nowhere, truly ridiculous, of maybe closing the distance separating them and having a taste of Marc’s mouth. Map the contour of Marc’s lips with his own, pressing them together, and pulling on the dark locks, a bit longer than usual and seemingly very soft.

A beep, some notification stops his train of thoughts before it evolves further, threatens to spread wider and form visions he shouldn’t be having. Not here, not now. 

Suddenly back to reality, he forces the heat trying to creep onto his face away, cursing his traitorous body for those reactions. 

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

Remembering what Marc told him just a minute ago, Valentino moves, the allusion clear. “Oh, right.” He tugs on the edge of the shirt that must've rolled up and is now pulled too far up, exposing the skin of his abdomen and hipbones, not unaware of where exactly Marc’s sight stopped. 

The flash of disappointment he thinks he saw must’ve been something conjured by his imagination. Must’ve got mistaken for something else. No point in overanalysing it, no matter how good he’s become at that lately. 

Slowly, he makes it to the front door, Marc following his steps. For a moment they’re just standing there wordlessly, the silence unusual and unnatural for both of them; it’s one of those rare moments when Valentino’s ability to speak turns off and leaves the uncomfortable quietness in its place. And he hates them. 

When his hand wraps around the door handle, he hesitates before pressing on the cold metal. It feels like something’s lacking, their conversation not finished, but there’s nothing he can think of in that moment that could fill the void. Empty, that’s how his mind looks. Tightening his grip, Valentino makes the decision of getting out quickly, the possibility of Alex arriving any second looming over him. 

Seemingly not bothered, Marc leans against one of the walls. “See you at the gala?” A smile is playing on his face, not the blinding grin, but a softer one, the type that makes Valentino gulp with something he can’t properly name. 

Even if Marc didn’t ask the question, Valentino wouldn’t have a doubt about seeing him there. 

He tilts head downwards, the nod barely visible.

As a goodbye, Marc wraps an arm around him, the touch more of a pat on the back than a full embrace, but it’s enough for the sparks to erupt on his hip and hair stand up on his arms. The warmth is here again, spreading through his limbs and heating his flesh, something Valentino hasn’t experienced with anyone else before. By now the reaction is already familiar, but getting to his head every single time. 

Combined with that urge he felt earlier, it’s all getting too much. 

“See you,” he answers hoarsely, throat acting as if he hasn’t spoken in a while. Bidding Marc farewell before he does something horribly stupid and something he'll regret, because he's already done too many of those. 

Pulling the hood over his head, Valentino carefully makes it back to his own motorhome, having to hide behind a stack of tyres two or three times in order to avoid getting seen. 

Inside, the suit he chose for the gala is hanging on the rack, almost staring at him mockingly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow, I managed to finish this in time for their birthdays! Considering how busy I've been lately, it's a small miracle, I'd say haha.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading <3


	10. Chapter 10

_Valencia 2016_

Valentino wriggles on the seat, not at all interested in what the hosts have to say. Every year it’s the same; he’s heard it all before. Different people, same stuff and if only he could, he would relax in his motorhome rather that attend another gala. Especially since he’s not the winner this year.

 _But Marc is,_ his consciousness reminds him constantly. 

He glances around, trying to convince himself that he isn’t looking for any person in particular. Not searching for anyone. Not trying to pick any specific features from the crowd. It’s an obvious lie as his eyes linger only on short statues and black hair, and he doesn’t want to admit the disappointment he feels when it’s Dani who he notices on the other side of the room. 

When one of the cameras stops on him, he waves at it, at the fans, grin in place, pretending he’s less uninterested in the event than in reality. The others aren’t much better. Jorge, two rows to the front and a few seats to the left, gives him a nod when their gazes meet. Gets one in return, with the hint of a smile, their conflict hopefully ending just like their time as teammates. The new teammate, Maverick, actually seems to be paying attention, one of the few to do so. 

Not for long. Valentino’s sure that if he attends a few more of those galas, it’ll change. 

There are a few more riders scattered all over the room, most of them with their partners, but that one person he’s searching for, Valentino can’t see. 

(Okay, he’s finally ready to admit it. Then again, who isn’t looking for Marc? His own most dedicated fans maybe, but probably not anyone else.) 

He claps when the Moto3 and Moto2 guys are announced, make it to the stage and back, his nervousness rising. _Now I’ll see you. I wonder what you’ll do with the car?_ Marc as the winner of the most poles in the season again, that’s not surprising. 

One of the hosts tells an unfunny joke, the audience laughing out of politeness, not amusement, before it’s finally the time to give out the prize. 

Gripping the armrests tighter, Valentino focuses all of his attention on one person. Marc trots to the stage, his step jumpy, stopping between the hosts, half a head shorter than either of them. Cute. The corners of Valentino’s mouth rise when Marc shares a joke, lets his signature cackle out. Even though it’s his nth prize, he still resembles an excited child. Valentino is not able to tear his eyes away. 

One of the springs of the seat is digging into his back, grazing the skin even through two layers of clothing. He shifts forward, sitting on the edge of the seat, both in the literal sense and figuratively. What little patience he’s had is running out, escaping as fast the words leaving the host’s mouth. 

Valentino presses a hand to his knee forcefully. The tapping his foot is doing against his will has to stop. All those cameras, all these people surrounding him from every side, they can’t see him like this. He laughs at himself, his own reactions, and shrugs when the woman on his right questions what is going on, not finding anything funny enough. 

(He doesn’t blush at being caught like that. Not even slightly. Not at all.)

He observes everything attentively, Marc disappearing from the stage and then Jorge making his way there, until his own name sounds through the speakers. After rearranging the bow-tie, he tires to squeeze through the narrow space between one row of seats and another; the occasional touch is unavoidable with how small his field of manoeuvre is, grazing someone’s knee with his own, so he tries his most charming smile for the first time in a long while, hoping it’d work as well as it used to. 

Up there, on the stage, Valentino steps to the centre, preparing for the usual questions. They hardly change, but still, he tries for all the people hungry for his every word. For the support they offer. They deserve it. 

Half-listening, half-being somewhere else with his thoughts, he goes through the interview, glad he manages to avoid embarrassing himself. He steps aside, making space for Marc to take, and plays their earlier conversation in his head on repeat. 

He still hasn’t figured out whatever that damned _okay_ could’ve meant. 

But, he already figured it’s not something he should be preoccupied with at the moment. 

When Marc emerges from the backstage again, he is the first to congratulate him. “Nice to see you here again,” he says while offering a handshake that’s a bit too strong for Valentino’s slightly sweaty palm. 

“Same,” Valentino responds. And it is. Compared to this, last year, where they were, seems like a bad dream, the one he’s woken up from with racing heart and damp hair, a sheen of sweat on the forehead, before. 

The acting casual thing he tries, he hopes he doesn’t fail at. 

Ignoring the hosts waving at him, Marc offers his congratulations. “Congrats.” He doesn’t let go of their hold, and Valentino suspects that the thumb brushing over his knuckle might not be entirely accidental. 

_Actually, congratulations to you. You did it, again._

He says exactly that, mirroring the grin that appeared on Marc’s face. “Well deserved,” he adds after a moment, bending forward so that he can speak into Marc’s ear. 

And that’s the only thing he manages to get out before Marc get swiped by the hosts once more. 

(Valentino has to squash the irritation he feels when their hands touch Marc’s shoulders and also back, something that never bothered him before. And that annoyance annoys him even further.)

When the medals are already hanging around their necks, the weight heavy in the most pleasant way, all three of them attempt to pose for the photographers. Marc moves near him, and Valentino can’t help but notice how the distance between him and Marc is much smaller than the one Marc shares with Jorge. The smell of Marc’s cologne reaches his nostrils, faint, but definitely there. Their shoulders brush a few times, fleeting touch that might’ve seemed accidental at first, but later Valentino isn’t so sure about it. 

And when Marc glances at him, chin slightly darted upwards to compensate for the height difference, Valentino goes back in time. 

Because this is exactly the same gaze he’s been on the receiving end of so often in the past. That same adoration he had used to take for granted and had treated it like an inherent part of Marc, something that couldn’t have changed. Until it did.

And he can hardly believe Marc is still capable of looking at him like that. 

When Marc tells him something, covering the microphone, so it doesn’t catch anything, and then breaking into a laughter, Valentino laughs along; even though he doesn’t register a thing from what Marc says, even though Jorge throws them both a suspicious stare. 

Marc might be this year’s winner, but the truth is, the gala isn’t his only. Despite the first of the losers thing, Valentino feels like it’s theirs, like it’s meant for him, too. And he hasn’t felt that good on that stage ever since he himself could add a plate with his name to the trophy. 

After the ceremony ends, even the vision of having to attend the after party doesn’t dampen his mood much. 

*

Valentino glances out of the window, counting the minutes until he can leave the after party without attracting too much attention. Maybe half an hour more and he’ll be done. Free of this arduous obligation because _what would the sponsors say if he didn’t show up?_

He waves at the nearest waiter and nods in thanks as his fingers wrap around a chilled glass. Little groups have formed, different classes, different championships, people who like each other (or at least hate isn’t the shared sentiment between them); he observes them silently, trying to figure out who those unknown faces belong to. 

“Having fun?” 

Marc appears out of nowhere, suddenly by his side. Close, very, their arms pressed against each other, even though it isn’t necessary, there’s enough space left for another person to fit in. The top buttons of his shirt are open and he must’ve lost the tie somewhere, no longer wrapped around his neck. The faint smell of alcohol betrays the state he’s in, and the memories of what happened the last time Valentino saw him like that resurface, vivid as back then. 

“Not really,” he shrugs, cursing every _No smoking_ sign placed in this building. “Boring as usual.” 

He doesn’t know why anyone calls this a party. Even the wine he’s sipping on is not to his taste. 

He tugs on the collar of his shirt, the temperature of the room suddenly too high for his liking. The jacket of his suit is lost as he swings it over his forearm, the drink he takes a sip of not alleviating his thirst. 

Frowning, little wrinkles appearing between his brows, Marc takes a look around. “Let’s get out of here?” he suggests, suddenly beaming like he’s found the solution to all the problems the world has to deal with. 

And the offer is tempting, incredibly so. 

Suddenly having Marc in his personal space doesn’t help, especially not when he’s almost leaning against Valentino, and a few heads have already turned towards them, ready to pick on anything unusual.

Valentino’s internal battle, drunk Marc’s company somewhere else vs having to spend even more time here, is lost quickly. Probably too quickly. “Lead the way.” 

He places the glass on one of the windowsills, still half-full. Whoever is going to clean after all of them, is going to have much bigger problems, if one of the restroom’s anything to go by, so he feels bad, but only a little. 

Marc is the first to move and Valentino waits till he disappears behind the door. He glances around, hopefully subtly. The eyes that were following him and Marc are turned in different directions, and it's not much, but his nerves are a little less strained. One less problem, at least.

They go through a few corridors and Valentino’s lost by the third corner, never having ventured to this part of the building. Marc, though, seems to know his way around perfectly well, intent on reaching some location with a confidence as big as the one he shows on the bike. 

“Look what I found.” Marc throws one of the doors open, the handle hitting the wall with the force he uses. His balance is already off, and he cackles after falling onto one of those bean bag chaisr, body spread all over it, arms folded behind the head and shirt no longer covering a part of his chest and abdomen. 

Valentino swallows, trying not to stare. Too much, at least. “It’s nice.” 

The room is actually nice. Located in the part of the building no one ever wanders to (He hasn’t and he’s been to the gala too many times to count. It must mean something.), secluded. What led Marc here, must’ve been some inexplicable gut feeling. 

Marc drags another chair next to the one he’s sitting on. “Come here.” He pats the furniture a few times, and Valentino can’t help but take notice of how his shirt rises further and how less and less material seems to cover his body. 

_Have you seen yourself?_

He’s sure Marc has and that he knows exactly what he’s doing, but the unanswered _Why?_ is bugging Valentino with insistence worth a bigger case. If Marc’s trying to distract and confuse him, he’s doing a pretty spectacular job. Valentino wishes he hadn’t left the glass of champagne on that sill. That way he’d have something to hold onto. 

Hesitating, he considers his options once more. He can still flee. Tell Marc his stomach is acting up. It would be only a half-lie, too, as it’s not food doing somersaults in there. 

Marc, impatience laced in the words, urges him loudly. “Valeeee, moooveeee.”

The speech is getting more slurred, as if the alcohol began to fully take its effects only now, but Valentino obeys the command wordlessly. He leans against the chair carefully, body sinking into it slowly, the leather squeaking due to his movements. _And now what?_

Grinning continuously, Marc taps him on the shoulder. “There, all better now.” 

Or, Valentino thinks, he wanted it to be a tap, but his hand slides off the silk of Valentino’s shirt, dropping to his chest instead. “Whoops,” Marc’s laughter resonates, breaking into a cascade of giggles. However, Valentino hardly focuses on it, because Marc’s palm is rubbing little, surprisingly gentle circles on his chest and he’s certain that Marc can feel the sprint his heart rate has transformed into. 

The way his mark reacts whenever they share the slightest physical contact is already familiar. By now, he’s almost used to it. The pulsing is almost comforting, a kind of constant, something he can expect to happen; at least one thing, since Marc’s action are not possible to predict. 

If sober Marc is a lot to deal with, then this snickering, highly tactile mess of ruffled hair and shiny eyes is going to be Valentino’s end.

(And the hand still hasn’t left.) 

“Marc, that’s enough.” Grabbing Marc’s wrist, he tries to free himself of the touch. Pulling on it, fingers wrapping around the slim bones, but without success. “Please, stop.” The burning of his mark is so strong at this point, he wouldn’t be surprised if there were permanent scares left even after it disappears. 

“Oh.” A reaction, finally. “Sorry.” Not the one Valentino wanted, though, because while the hand leaves, Marc moves and squeezes next to him on the chair, now their sides pressed together. _What got into you today?_

As innocently as he can not to raise any suspicions, he tries to put some, any distance between their bodies. Marc’s drunk. Not fully aware of his actions. Going back to that awkward phase they were in right after the marks had appeared is the last thing he’d want to happen. And, he has a feeling, that’s exactly what would happen. 

Marc has no intention of moving even a bit, though. 

Instead, he hums contently and presses the back of his head against Valentino’s shoulder. “This is nice. We should’ve done it earlier.” He yawns, eyelids beginning to close slowly, causing a wave of panic to flash in Valentino’s mind. Marc can’t fall asleep on him. People probably already started wondering where the two of the had disappeared and if someone found them like this, he doesn’t want to imagine the size of the scandal. 

Pressing a palm to Marc’s cheeks, Valentino tries to gently bring him back to reality. “You need to get up.”

Petulant like a child, Marc shakes his head. “Nah. It’s comfy like this,” he protests. Then, snuggles further into Valentino’s side. 

There are two contradictory forces fighting in Valentino’s mind. One, screaming what horrible idea this is and what the consequences might be, and the other, whispering, reminding him how much time has already passed since he was like this with anyone, wrapped in an embrace, sharing warmth. Having another person so close. Because, reluctantly, Valentino agrees with Marc – this is nice. 

Five minutes, he promises himself. Just five. 

(What a lie.)

“What now?” Suddenly, Marc questions, turning head to the side. 

Valentino shudders after feeling hot breath on his cheek. Marc’s hair is tickling the sensitive flesh of his neck, brushing against it lightly. A similar scene comes to the front of his mind, warm summer and a bench behind his house in Italy, lazy evening. One of those rare slow moments in his life. Only back then the hair was longer, a different shade and carrying a flowery scent, so unlike Marc’s. “What do you mean?” he whispers, somehow the atmosphere forcing him to lower the voice. 

He has an idea what Marc might mean. What might be hiding behind those words, their last conversation coming to an end abruptly. But, at the same time, he’s aware that Marc is in no state to be discussing those kind of matters. 

Marc takes a deep breath and more shivers flow through Valentino’s limbs. “The winter break. I mean, we won’t be seeing each other on the tracks.” He has a thoughtful look, one that comes closer to sobriety than to intoxication. 

“Yeah.” _Do you want to? You seem like you do._

“I will miss you.” Marc’s eyelids flutter as he rubs the corner of his eye. “Like I missed you after Sepang. And I don’t want to. It was shitty,” he confesses, the alcohol letting his tongue loose. 

If not for the fact that he’s still alive, Valentino would be sure his heart had stopped. There are many things he would expect to hear, but the words currently reaching his ears are not among them. In no way is Marc capable of understanding what leaves his mouth in this moment, surely not conscious thoughts and sentiments. 

He pretends to check the time, glancing at the watch wrapped around his wrist (Not Tissot. He never wears those.). “Marc, we need to go.” He taps at the silver face, the hands showing it’s already after 1 AM. 

“Really?” Marc sighs. He stretches his limbs, knee hitting Valentino’s lightly. “Promise me we’ll see each other during the break,” he demands stubbornly. 

The tone of his voice doesn’t allow for objection.

“We’ll see each other during the testing,” Valentino tries, hoping Marc would fall for it. That his ability to connect the facts is weakened at the moment. There are no promises he’s willing to make, not when he doesn’t trust Marc’s judgement or himself to make rational decisions, based on logical thinking and not the emotions or marks. 

Sadly, the trick doesn’t work. 

“I don’t mean the testing,” comes Marc’s protest immediately. He’s gotten up, now sitting and no longer splayed out on the chair almost like a starfish, and there’s seriousness on his features that wasn’t there a minute ago. 

_Be calm,_ Valentino tells himself. _You’ve made the decision to give it a try, so do it._

Gulping, he goes for the safest bet, glad he’s managed to think of something on the spot. “We’ll talk after the testing, okay?” _Please, agree._ He hopes Marc does, silently begs for it and when _(if)_ they go back to that conversation, the circumstances will be different. 

“Promise?” Marc insists, and Valentino doesn’t have any arguments against it. 

He almost squirms under the intensity Marc’s staring at him with, rubbing hands against each other in order not to let them loose. “Promise,” he swears, air leaving his lungs loudly. 

“Great.” Marc grins and wraps arms around his neck, throwing all his weight at Valentino. 

Valentino has to move hands to Marc’s waist to steady them both, otherwise they’d land on the floor in a mess of tangled limbs and rumpled clothes. For a second he’s back on the podium in 2013 or maybe 2014. This scene, this sequence of events is something he knows well, no matter how much he tried to erase it from his memories, blinded by anger that now seems silly at most. 

Only back then, Marc’s hugs were innocent, nothing behind them. And the current one is not like that. Not on his part. 

Once again, he has to remind himself that if someone found them, it’s doubtful they’d believe the ‘it’s not what it looks like’ explanation. 

(Or would it kind of be like that?)

There’s a moment when their surroundings are quiet, but his mind is screaming, all the tingling is going through the mark in steady waves, and he still has some difficulty realizing this isn’t some bizarre dream. That the sinusoid that their relationship seems to be is going upwards again. 

After a while, Marc’s arms fall to his side and then, he stands on the tiptoes and cranes his neck. 

They've gotten up, facing each other, but the closeness between them has decreased only by a little. Marc’s probably intending to give him a peck on the cheek, Valentino thinks. That’s the most plausible explanation of this movement. But through the haziness, Marc’s coordination is rather off and his lips land elsewhere. He misses by a bit, and Valentino feels a fleeting touch, barely any pressure, at the corner of his mouth, sparks erupting where his mark is located immediately. 

There are all kind of alarms going off in his head. Signals warning him to move away, Marc’s drunk, stop it immediately, but he remains frozen, unable to do anything himself and letting Marc do whatever he wants.

Thankfully, it ends only with that one tiny brush of lips and nothing more. Marc pulls away, and when Valentino sees his expression, he wishes he didn’t, because if he ever saw pure joy, it surely would be something like this. Like the grin, spreading so far it almost splits the face in half, and eyes, wide and so dark it’s no longer possible to tell where the pupil starts and the iris ends. 

Marc winks at him, the gesture so exaggerated it would look horrible on anyone but him, and walks off, swaying slightly. 

The door shuts behind him, the noises from the party reaching him barely for a few seconds before Valentino’s left with his own voice as the only company. 

Shaking his head, Valentino tries to organize the mess that his mind has turned into. 

_I don’t what I got myself into._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new season, guys! Finally!  
> It feels like a good time to post this chapter, considering today's race. 
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	11. Chapter 11

_Valencia 2016, testing_

It feels weird. Not having Jorge on the other side of the garage, that is.

Despite everything that had happened between them, Jorge’s departure was simply kind of awkward. As they stood in front of each other, neither sure what to say, how their goodbye was meant to look, Valentino felt out of place. Out of his depth. For a moment he contemplated whether a handshake would be too little, considering how long they had been teammates, or a hug too much, considering how rocky their relationship had been. 

_It was easier when I was leaving._

His body swayed slightly, weight shifted from one foot to the other, shoes squeaking against the floor. _It’s only Jorge,_ he reminded himself, arm dangling by his side, fingers flexing slowly. Not the first teammate to leave, not the last teammate he’d have, and if he had to be honest with himself, there was no denying the relief that came with Jorge’s decision. More than likely, they were better off not riding the same bike. 

But Valentino had gotten used to the familiar presence during all those years and he knew this change would be something he’d need time adjusting to.

*

Maverick tiptoes into the garage, small steps barely announcing his presence. Valentino’s the first to cut the distance between them, offering a welcome he hopes isn’t either too much or too little. Just friendly enough. His hand lands on Maverick’s back, the leather texture the most familiar thing, and he hopes for the best. This time will be different, he wishes, wants to make that wish true. 

Their chat doesn’t last long, there’s no time for that. The team still has a few words for them before the engines begin to roar and the tyres start to rub against the asphalt, some last sentences exchanged. Maverick listens attentively to whatever the team’s saying to him, quiet and focused, not allowing for a smallest joke to slip in. The scribbles are scattered on the paper, pen moving on the sheet he’s holding, and there are only lines of focus Valentino notices on his face. All work and no play. Much like Jorge.

Now that Valentino thinks about it, they even look kind of alike and he’s having a weird sense of deja-vu, the _been there, done that_ thing. 

When the talk with the team is finally over, he puts the helmet on, cheeks getting thoroughly squeezed, and checks the fastening once more. There’s at least one good thing coming out of it all – focusing on the test and the new teammate instead of all his thoughts revolving around Marc. 

Whenever he goes back to that promise he made, his stomach tightens slightly, changing its regular state. He isn’t sure whether it’s a result of stress or anticipation. Probably a mixture of both, with more of the latter than the former. After the testing, he said, but there’s always the possibility of Marc forgetting about it altogether.

Considering the state he was in, Valentino wouldn’t put it past him.

Rising up from the crouch, he hops on the bike, clearing his head of any additional musings. The roar of the engine has a calming effect as he goes on the track, today’s task his only concern. At least for the next few hours.

*

After taking the last turn to the box, Valentino throws the leg over the tank and switches the bike off. The garage doors are closing, the chequered flag waving over the track, signalling an end to their day. 

Inside, he puts the chest protector on the shelf, giving the helmet to Uccio. “Thanks.” 

Brushing a hand through his sweaty hair, he takes a glance around the garage. The atmosphere is different. There’s no hectic running around, no doing everything faster, better, now, the things inseparably connected to the race weekends. During the testing, it’s not like that at all. And while at times it can be enjoyable, it has nothing on the feeling of waking up on Sunday morning.

“Dinner together?” someone suggests, receiving a murmur of agreement as an answer.

Valentino forces his body to leave the chair, stepping to the other side of the box. He’s all in for the idea and his stomach has been grumbling for at least half an hour; at the same time, he figures this might be a chance to make his new resolution work.

Stopping next to Maverick’s chair, he waits patiently to be given attention, Maverick’s cap still his main view at the moment. This time, he wants it to be different. No hostile looks and hurtful words. No war that builds walls and destroys relationships. This time, he’d like to think he’s grown out of it. 

This time, he’s not making the same mistakes.

Maverick leaves the telemetry sheet for a moment, shifting sight to Valentino.“Uhm, do you need something?” he asks, not really hiding the surprise.

Valentino laughs heartily, not having expected that kind of answer. “No, not really.” Maverick’s eyebrows rising even further fill him with a whole lot of amusement. “But we’re going to have a team dinner. You’re invited to join, if you want.” 

He rolls his shoulders backwards, muscles aching slightly, as he waits for Maverick’s reaction. The expression is different now, but no less interesting. Some sort of shyness and a bit of mistrust that somehow blend with a little awe Maverick still has for him. It’s not guarded, not in the way Jorge has been for a while now, and honestly, it’s refreshing.

Picking up the fallen telemetry sheet, he prompts the answer, tilting head slightly. “So?”

One of the mechanics pats him on the shoulder, _it’s time to go,_ but he’s met with a dismissive wave of Valentino’s hand. His whole attention is still on his teammate, focus remaining.

“Sure.” Maverick finally regains his voice. “I’d like to.” 

A bit unsure and more than a little surprised, he looks scarily young. 

*

He’s running late once again, the keys to the motorhome changing places without his interference or desire. The floor is littered with everything he’s been keeping in the pockets and his luggage up until now and he almost lands face-first on the ground when the sole of his shoe makes contact with the glossy packet of tissues. Thankfully, the table is there to hold onto, but his heart skips a beat either way when instead of being vertical, his body begins switching to horizontal. Fast. 

As a few more objects fly in the air, Valentino curses, Italian mixing with English. The phone is already buzzing in his pocket, incoming calls, _where are you, when will you get here?,_ but he doesn’t reach for the device, his grimace growing. It takes a few more minutes, but the bedside drawer is where he encounters the keys and he grabs them hastily, the lock clicking when he shuts the door.

Valentino cringes at the loud thudding of the metal staircase when he’s running down it, hoping it doesn’t alert anyone of his presence. Giving autographs and taking selfies, people tugging on his clothes in hopes of receiving the smallest bit of attention, he has no time for that. 

He pulls the zip of the hoodie – a plain, grey one – higher and the cap lower, shielding his eyes as best as he can. The restaurant they’re supposed to meet in is not far, he should get there in a few minutes, but not getting recognized is a near miracle here in Valencia.

The paddock’s mostly deserted, some shadows here and there, but not many in quantity. It might be a hundred or maybe two hundred metres of sneaking behind one motorhome and another, eyes locked on the ground, before his head whips around, finally noticing the other person nearby. 

Of course it’s Marc. It couldn’t have been anyone else. 

It’s an instinct, the automatic reaction to pull Marc further behind the truck, not to let some unwanted eyes or undesired ears to follow them. Valentino has a grip on Marc’s shoulder, firm but not painful, feeling the protruding bones under his palm. The spark going through his nerve endings hasn’t diminished in the littlest since the last time and the distance between their bodies, or lack thereof, is not big enough, not to keep him calm the way he’d like to. 

He couldn’t have ever imagined he’d be so affected by Marc.

“We can’t seem to stay away from each other for long,” Marc laughs, voice rumbling in a way that has the hairs on Valentino’s arms rise up. There’s truth to that statement, though, as they seem to gravitate towards each other, not a conscious decision, not by will.

(But certainly not against it, either.)

“Fate,” he replies, half-serious, half not. He’s spent too many nights on trying to figure out why some higher force would consider the two of them right for each other, coming with no sensible conclusion.

Laugher gaining that characteristic, too high pitch, Marc nods in agreement. “Right, fate.” 

For the first time in months the silence that follows isn’t tinged with the lingering awkwardness that seems to trail after them constantly, the only exception being too much alcohol in Marc’s blood. It’s refreshing. There’s this hope Valentino has, that Marc won’t try to bring anything they talked about last time up. The moment is bad. And he’s not ready. Someone might show up any given second and it’s already suspicious enough that they’re standing together behind one of the Suzuki trucks; if anyone were to overhear their talk, no excuse would be believable.

It must be his lucky day, because the topic Marc chooses is the most neutral one.

“How’s the first day of testing?” 

Valentino needs to force himself to focus on the question and not on the way Marc’s lips part with each word. “Pretty good. I didn’t think Maverick would be this fast, though.”

“Not going to catch a breath, huh?” Marc grins, and Valentino swears, this must be the best look on him. 

One of the leaves lands in Marc’s hair, bright green a stark contrast to the darkness of the strands, and Valentino catches it between his fingers before there’s a conscious thought to his actions. “A leaf.” He waves it in the air in response to Marc’s inquiring expression. “Was in your hair.”

Marc follows the movement back and forth. Valentino crushes the leaf in his palm, letting the crumpled bits reach the ground, one or two settling on his shoe. Then, he sticks hands in the pockets of his shorts, not allowing them to wander anywhere near Marc’s body. 

No matter how much he’d like them to wander somewhere near Marc’s body.

It’s a thought he’s only recently allowed to reach the surface of his mind, not buried along with other _can’ts_ and _shouldn’ts_ anymore. He’s still growing into it, the possibility of there being something more to him and Marc than only the letters scrawled on their flesh, more than just faith laughing in their faces, loudly. More than a joke that could’ve sounded funny to anyone but them. And the fact that Marc’s insistence might have finally begun crawling under his skin terrifies him. 

Crouching to tie an undone shoelace, Valentino fills the silence, so that Marc doesn’t get to do it. “We’re having a team dinner,” he informs, not wanting to reach any dangerous topic right now, something that seems to happen each time recently. “You know, to welcome Maverick properly.” 

He doesn’t know why he shares that, but it’s the first thought to appear in his mind that’s neutral enough. 

“Oh, right.” Marc’s smile is a bit too wide, the curl of his lips a bit too strong. “Have fun.” He takes a look to the left, then right, scanning the area. The results must be satisfying as he gives a little wave and takes off towards wherever he was headed before. 

“I’ll call you later,” Valentino manages to yell after him, unsure whether it reaches Marc’s ears or not. 

His forehead creases, shallow lines forming horizontally on his skin as he follows the contour of Marc’s silhouette growing smaller in the distance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided I'm not going to let some stupid arguments ruin my story and today feels really good to post a chapter (even with all that awkwardness in the air). 
> 
> As usual, thank you for reading and for your support <3


	12. Chapter 12

_Valencia 2016, testing_

If not for the fact that some nosy eyes or worse, camera lenses, could’ve caught him, Valentino probably would’ve stood in front of that door longer. 

__

The call he made was brief, just a few minutes of talk, and ended with an invitation to Marc’s motorhome, _we can have a chat, yeah?_ And an agreement, of course. On both sides. There might’ve been a bit too much of eagerness on Valentino’s side, an immediate response, accepting the proposed time and date without question. But, to his defence, Marc’s reaction was no less enthusiastic.

__

So, that’s how Valentino finds himself getting comfortable in Marc’s kitchen, a mug with _93_ held in his hand, elbow propped on the slightly worn table. He puts the vessel to his lips and the liquid has a soothing effect on his throat.

__

_If only Uccio saw me now._

__

The kitchen, well, he’s been here before. In different circumstances (Or were they that different, really?) and he never got to take a proper look. It’s surprisingly orderly. He takes in the light colours, clean spaces, glossy counters. It’s something he’d hardly associate with Marc, with the amount of colour there normally is to him. Maybe Alex’s choice? Or, most likely, nether of them caring until their mother forced them to pick something. 

__

Valentino chuckles at that last thought, wondering if the little Marquez is also fully bike-oriented, like Marc. 

__

“Alex won’t be here for at least an hour, so we have some time for ourselves,” Marc states, opening the fridge and rummaging through it. He pulls a plastic box out, lifts the lid, and puts it back after taking a whiff, scoffing. 

__

Valentino stirs the tea, the spoon hitting the walls of his _(Marc's)_ mug noisily. He scolds himself mentally for where his brain stars wandering to after the last part of that sentence. Innocent sentence that somehow leads him to dangerous territory, not so innocent thoughts. The fact that Marc bends slightly to have a better look at the lowest shelf and how the fabric of his pants hugs his body don’t help Valentino’s case at all. 

__

“Getting rid of the little brother is not easy, I get it,” he answers, hoping he doesn’t sound as distracted as he in fact is. 

__

“Mhm,” Marc’s murmur gets interrupted when he closes the fridge’s door, the bottles inside clinking. He pulls the only free chair out, munching on a rice cake and swiping the crumbs to the floor, much to Valentino’s surprise. “Shh, I’ll clean it later. Don’t tell my mom,” he jajajas, taking another bite. 

__

It’s the last thing he says for a while, busy eating, and Valentino finds himself struggling, unable to form a proper sentence from the tangled mess his thoughts turned into. He doesn’t know, if he should approach _the topic_ or let Marc be the one to do it. Or maybe not mention anything at all. Maybe it would’ve been better if not nothing was said at all, the Gala hopefully transforming into a blurry memory rather sooner than later. 

__

He almost settles on this, keeping quiet and not saying anything until he is spoken to, but then the images from that night come back unexpectedly and he’s lost. Lost like he was back then, helpless against Marc’s actions, his closeness. 

__

So far, he’s been sure his reactions were a result of him missing having someone close to him, more than a friend could be. And there’s no denying how good looking Marc is, there never was. Who wouldn’t be attracted to him? 

__

But with each of their encounters, Valentino’s less and less sure it’s only that. 

__

Leaning back on the chair, he quickly disregards the not talking option. Marc’s fingers are drumming against the wood, creating a quick rhythm; Valetino wonders whether his own body betrays the state of his mind like that, too.

__

The marks his teeth leave on his lips are involuntary, but he doesn’t catch himself in time to stop them. He feels the sting of the skin breaking, faint taste of blood on his tongue. Shit. Can be blamed on the dry air, he hopes, not enough humidity, because exposing his anxiety like that, that’s no good. 

__

Before finally forcing the question out, he tries to get his voice to its most stable. “The Gala was good this year, right?” It’s not a full success, a little crack at the end a clear sign, but maybe Marc won’t mention it. That’s what he counts on. 

__

He slaps himself mentally for being such a coward, unable to be direct. Way to go. Now, he’ll surely make things even more awkward, quite a feat, and this is all not going how he wanted it to. He wonders what Marc thinks of him now, this mess he’s become. Then again, Marc’s opinion of him must’ve been low from the begging, unsurprisingly. This probably changes nothing. 

__

“Sure, it was fun,” Marc answers, moistening his lips. He sits up straighter, his back touching the back of the chair fully now, and Valentino doesn’t miss how his posture suddenly seems unnaturally rigid, the tension that wasn’t there a moment ago. 

__

_You’re equally nervous. Wow._

__

This new knowledge brings a tiny bit of confidence. He’s not the only one not knowing where they stand or how to proceed or what to do, in general. But there’s also something else there, the unexpected want to soothe Marc’s worries, bring him some reassurance, offer comfort, that is more of a surprise that perhaps it should be. His palm is itching to run it down Marc’s cheek slowly, ruffle the hair. 

__

_I’m not sure if I’d be reassuring you or myself, though._

__

However, the talk needs to be done and he cannot stall forever. It’s not doing him any favours. 

__

“Was fun for me, too,” Valentino says, but before he can open his mouth again, Marc interrupts him suddenly.

__

“Look, I know where you’re going with this.” There might be the slightest hint of colour creeping on Marc’s cheeks, pale pink on the tanned skin. “I was drunk, but not to the extent of forgetting what was going on,” he admits, the hints of shame hidden in his voice.

__

The information and the implications that come with it make Valentino pause in his tracks.

__

“So, you know what you did?”

__

It sounds almost like an accusation, but it’s now how Valentino meant it at all. For a second he considers explaining that, telling that he didn’t really mind it (And that’s actually the truth. But Marc being drunk makes it a lot harder to admit that he enjoyed the physical closeness.), but Marc beats him to it.

__

_Even now you’re faster?_

__

“I’m rather affectionate after a few drinks. Sorry.” Marc lets out a short laugh, but his fingers are twisting and his sight is locked on the floor. 

__

Valentino’s next to him in an instant.

__

His body is moving on instinct, limbs without the brain’s permission. “That’s okay,” he reassures, words completed with his hand landing on Marc’s shoulder. He allows it to slide lower, to the small of Marc’s back, the touch gentle, but steady. _I don’t mind._

__

His palm fits Marc’s back perfectly, feeling the heat spreading from under the thin shirt, but he breaks the contact the moment Marc’s muscles tense. 

__

The tiniest bit of Valentino’s brain wishes that Marc were _rather affectionate_ when sober, too. Free. Reactions not hindered also without the alcohol circulating in his blood. And then, he remembers how Marc used to be like that, and how Valentino himself is the cause of the change he’s witnessing now. 

__

Trying to stifle the regret that’s coming back again, he wonders if there’s a point of bringing the promise he made during the Gala up. In the end, he decides that yeah, it’s worth a try. 

__

“So, what about the winter break?”

__

The question is purposefully vague. He’s leaving Marc the option to pick the topic up or brush it off, whatever is the better choice, whatever Marc wants. He refuses to acknowledge that he might be counting on a positive answer, a little spark of hope hidden deep inside. From the past relationships he’s learnt not to expect too much, too many disappointments he’s been through and it’s better to be safe than sorry.

__

But his stupid heart knows better, and he almost jumps when Marc’s voice reaches him again. 

__

“Yeah, that.” Marc scratches his cheek, tilts his head to the side. “I shouldn’t have kept on insisting on that. I don’t want to be a bother, sorry.” 

__

_A bother? What?_

__

Marc being a bother is the last thing he’d have thought about.

__

Valentino glances at the window, the last sun rays of the day impairing his vision. It’s his turn to speak up, take the initiative, he knows that. Marc has already made all the first steps until now. 

__

His vision changes focus, so that he’s looking forward once again. “How do you see those meetings during the break?”

__

“You’re actually up for it?”

__

Marc’s surprise looks almost comical. As if the thought of Valentino wanting to spend time together during the winter break, Valentino offering it, never crossed him mind while it wasn’t under the influence of a bit too much of champagne. 

__

_Or maybe you never wanted me to bring this up?_

__

Valentino quickly brushes that thought away. He scratches at one of the cracks marring the table’s surface, his nails filed so short it doesn’t leave any marks. “Sure. But we need to figure something out, so we don’t get recognized.” 

__

And this might be the biggest problem they are yet to face.

__

How they’re going to meet without attracting attention, without being caught on one of those photographs taken by some desperate paparazzi, following and stalking, tracking every move. Some time ago, it wouldn’t have been particularly difficult. He would’ve invited Marc to the Ranch, bikes and spending time together a combination that could hardly be beaten. At the end of the day, they’d shed the leathers, Marc’s grin shining on his face and droplets of sweat shining on his chest, and okay, this is going too far. 

__

Instead of letting his imagination run wild, he needs to focus on the present, Valentino tells himself. 

__

Marc seems pensive, picking on the foiled package the rice cakes were wrapped in. “Small hotel in some country where racing isn’t popular?” He proposes. “It would be the safest bet, probably.” 

__

“You’ve thought about it?” Valentino’s sure the surprise must’ve painted itself of his face, raising eyebrows, lifting eyelids. Unconsciously, he sits closer to the chair’s edge, palms now splayed on the table. 

__

That doesn’t sound like a bad idea. The possibility of getting recognized is still there, probably not something they can escape with full certainty, but considering the options they have, there’s a chance this one could work. 

__

Marc catches his lips between his teeth. “I just had this idea now,” he outward lies, the words sliding of his tongue in an unnatural way. 

__

His attempt at downplaying is not effective at all; he’s transparent to Valentino’s eyes, see-through. 

__

“Sounds good.” It’s certainly something they can work with. “You want me to sort it out? Or you’ll do it?” 

__

“I’ll do it,” Marc states, determination shining through the words and also his expression. And well, Valentino’s already learnt that if there’s something Marc wants, he’ll channel all his strength into getting it. So, he’s calm. Things will get done. 

__

“Great.” Raising up from the seat, Valentino observes Marc mirroring his actions, albeit quicker, more graceful. Just like on the track. “I won’t be taking more of your time.”

__

Slowly, perhaps slower than necessary, he makes his way to the door. Marc follows, two steps behind, and it’s not like Valentino notices that they move in the same rhythm or something. 

__

“See you soon?” he offers, the _soon_ an unidentified future.

__

He’s ready to leave before any awkwardness can slip into the air, a tension carrying nothing but discomfort. No need for that.

__

However, Marc doesn’t let him, not like that. Valentino has a warm body pressed against his in an instant, arms enclosed around his neck. Marc’s standing on the tips of his toes to compensate for the height difference and goodness, it’s so adorable. And he hardly should be thinking of Marc Marquez, multiple world champion and a true beast on the track, as adorable. But he does, either way. 

__

It’s an unconditional reflex to reciprocate that embrace, to hug Marc back. Valentino snakes arms around Marc’s waist, forms a firm hold. This time, the mark isn’t burning; instead, there’s just gentle tingling on his hip, one he’d rather associate with waiting for something, expecting. Anticipation. 

__

He stops himself from placing chin on top of Marc’s head, even if he wants to. Too much, that hug is already affecting him more than it should. Marc’s breath fanning over his neck and the heat radiating from the small form plastered against him is already enough for his senses to start acting up. 

__

“Bye, Vale.” Marc unwraps himself from the hold; Valentino is not ready to admit the disappointment that follows. 

__

He answers with his own set of goodbyes, already gnashing teeth. He needs a cigarette, now. 

__

Outside, with a stick burning between his lips, Valentino realizes that for a moment, he forgot they didn’t end up where they are out of their own will. 

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After today's podium it seems like the world is in balance again haha. And it feels like a good moment to post a new chapter. 
> 
> Like always, thank you for reading <3


	13. Chapter 13

There’s still a lot of time left, almost a day before Valentino needs to appear at the airport and whole twenty-five hours till the take off, but the travel nerves are already there. Which is ironic for someone who spends a greater part of his life travelling, half of each year on the move, his house more of a hotel rather than home. He’s restless, nothing able to hold his attention for longer than a few minutes. He might’ve checked if his flight didn’t get cancelled three times, checked the weather forecast twice and also checked if he hasn’t lost his ticket by any chance. 

The suitcases, three different sizes, lay open in the middle of the room, not one of them full, not one empty. Alternately, Valentino puts clothes in one, then the other, only to finally fill the third one and repeat the process again. He’s done that at least three times by now. And his annoyance is rising, annoyance at himself, for acting so ridiculously. There’s no better word for what he’s doing right now. 

Not much time has passed since he last saw Marc, but Valentino’s been on pins and needles, waiting. He recalls the moment Marc called to tell him the details of their meeting, how his heart skipped a beat when he saw the familiar name on the screen and how his phone almost landed in the soup, slipping through his fingers. He picked up quickly, not sure what to expect, if Marc really organized everything or maybe decided to cancel the whole ordeal. 

Marc’s voice, flooding him with the names of the city, of the hotel, the closest airport, filled Valentino with relief that he hadn’t been stood up, that it hadn’t been a joke. And at the same time, filled him with nervousness, the good kind, the tingling in his stomach corresponding with his expectations. 

And the feeling hasn’t left ever since. 

He’s in the middle of moving stuff from the third suitcase to the second one, throwing a few shirts and two pair of pants out, when knocking pulls him out of thoughts. It’s soft, a quiet sound transmitted through the wooden door, reaching his ears. Valentino folds the shirt he was holding, a dark blue one with silver buttons lined from the collar downwards, smoothing the wrinkles formed on the material. 

Slowly, he raises from the crouch, inviting the visitor inside. “Come in.”

It cannot be anyone else but Luca, there’s no one else here as the rest of the Academy guys still have the time off to relax after the season, so there’s no surprise when a familiar face appears from behind the door. 

Luca stops in the middle of the room, and Valentino can tell his sight is wandering, pausing on the mess that wasn’t there a few hours ago. “You’re going somewhere?” The suitcases are a dead giveaway, there’s no more evidence needed. “On a date?” It’s probably meant as a joke, too, but for once Valentino doesn’t go along with it, not playing the part. “Wait. You’re going with Marc, right?” 

The expression on Luca’s face tells Valentino it was more of a statement than a question. “It’s not a date,” he denies, but he’s sure Luca doesn’t buy it. 

Against his will, he finds the warmth creeping onto his cheeks, the air feeling hotter than it should. He doesn’t remember acting like that with any of his soulmates before, at least not until they actually went on a date, and he doesn’t need Luca pointing his odd behaviour out like that. No matter how much he loves Luca (and that’s a whole lot), in times like this, he cannot deny that Luca can play the annoying little brother role all too well. 

“But you’re going somewhere with Marc!” It must be the closest to a shout of triumph Valentino has ever heard. “And it surely looks like a date,” Luca states, picking one of the shirts, frowning at the creases on the fabric. 

Valentino takes it from him, throwing it without looking where. “It’s not,” he repeats. 

Luca doesn’t look the littlest bit convinced, as he hums knowingly, searching through the clothes laying around him. A few pieces land in the first suitcase, the other two getting kicked to the corner of the room, still partially packed. Valentino curses when they almost smack his ankles in the process, missing by a few centimetres. 

_What the-_

“Wear something nicer than those?” Luca suggests, not bothered by Valentino’s pointed look. Valentino follows his movements, opening the wardrobe and picking another five shirts to add to the pile already laying on the bed, spreading them next to each other. “Maybe one of these? Flaunt yourself a little, Vale.” 

The laugh that follows, complete with Luca’s face splitting grin should annoy him, but instead Valentino just sighs, sitting down. “Flaunting myself is probably the last thing Marc wants to see.”

_As if Marc would want to see that._

There’s no possibility of that, because why would there be one? Normally, Valentino’s not particularly self-conscious – he’s aware of the good things and also of the not so attractive parts of how he looks, but overall, summed up, they make an okay whole. And there’s no point in pretending that his status doesn’t help. It does. Whether that’s a good thing or not, it’s not up to him to decide. 

But when Marc’s concerned, things are different.

The status thing is out of the question, and while at the beginning, back when Marc made his debut in MotoGP, it could’ve been an advantage, now it’s of no use. And his actual looks, except maybe for the height, also pale in comparison with Marc’s, so Valentino feels justified in his judgement. 

“Vale,” Luca says, his voice almost scolding, and suddenly Valentino feels like he’s the younger between them. “Marc is your soulmate. And he’s going on a date with you. Do you seriously think that if he didn’t find you attractive at all, he’d want to do that?” 

Luca’s staring at him with such scrutiny that Valentino curls a little into himself under that gaze. 

_Maybe you have a point?_

He crosses arms in front of his chest, somewhat defensively. Marc certainly didn’t look repulsed by him, Valentino thinks. The clinginess and that almost kiss could be blamed on the amount of alcohol Marc had in his system during the Gala, but that last hug can’t. Marc wasn’t under the influence of anything and it was he who initiated it, not Valentino. 

Then again, not being repulsed and being attracted to someone are two different things and he can’t tell which one of the two is it. He is well aware that he is Marc’s first soulmate and the possibility of Marc doing everything only to gain experience is always there, the awareness of perhaps being only an experiment before someone better appears and swipes Marc off his feet. 

He picks up his sight when Luca taps him on the shoulder, a black shirt hanging in front of Valentino’s face. “Try this one.” 

The fabric lands on his lap, and he finally moves when Luca’s expectant gaze doesn’t falter a little bit. The worn t-shirt he had on before is thrown on the back of the chair as Valentino pulls the new one through his head, adjusting the collar so it doesn’t irritate his neck. 

Slowly, he crosses the distance to the mirror, scanning his silhouette from head to the toes, trying to assess whether that’s a good look on him or not. The shirt is one of the fitted ones, hugging his body closely, accentuating his slim figure. The cuffs are a little too loose around his wrists, but it doesn’t falter the overall impression, is something hardly noticeable. It would go well with the pants Luca’s holding out to him, too. 

But the thing is, Valentino feels overdressed. As if it was an actual date, not a meeting of two soulmates in a hotel in some foreign country and alright, he knows how that sounds. But it’s not a date. It’s really not. 

“I’m not sure,” he finally comments, hoping Luca will drop the topic. Almost unconsciously, he grabs the edge of the fabric, lifting it slightly. Just enough to see the reflection of his mark in the mirror, the letters reversed but familiar, dark as ever. His fingertip slides on it slowly, following the contours, but nothing happens, there’s no reaction to his touch. 

_Only to Marc’s._

“This one definitely stays.” Luca points at Valentino’s chest with the tip of his finger. “But you need more.” 

It’s how Valentino ends up undressing and redressing good five times more, Luca’s comments accompanying him, judging each outfit. He might throw the mirror out, and it’s honestly surprising it hasn’t broken yet, that’s how much he’s been staring at his reflection. “How’s that?” He asks, smoothing the material over his chest for the nth time. 

Luca pulls Valentino’s hands away before staring him up and down. “For your age, you don’t look bad.”

“For my age?”

Luca shrugs, his laughter resonating in the room, and dodges the pillow Valentino throws at him. 

*

Two weeks after the end of the season, on a Tuesday morning, Valentino finds himself arriving in a city with a name he can’t pronounce.

Clumsily, he gets out of the taxi, sneezing when a snowflake lands on his nose. It’s colder than he expected, more chilly, so he tugs the collar of his coat closer, shielding his neck from the smacking gusts of wind. The weather is only slightly better in Italy, but it hasn’t reached the point of freezing yet, unlike here. _Great time to pack everything but a scarf, leaving it on the shoe cabinet by the front door._

He glances at the hotel Marc told him he had booked, the neon lights arranged to form the name and the glass elevators on the outside of the building. He hopes there are regular ones inside, as these doesn’t help the secrecy they need to maintain, but also because of the slight discomfort he gets whenever he gets into one. 

Opening the texts, he checks the room number where Marc’s supposed to be waiting for him once more, memorizing it. 

Thankfully, there is an elevator inside, so he wheels the suitcase inside and pushes the right button. The doors open on three different floors before he reaches the seventh, his, but no one’s paying attention to him, asking for photos or autographs, not to mention some of the ridiculous requests people can make, those that make him shudder. Here, there really is an air of anonymity he didn’t get to breathe in a long while. 

Once he’s on the right floor, Valentino counts the doors till he’s in front of the room 139, and then he knocks. 

While he’s waiting for it to open, a thought strikes him. Maybe it’s all a joke. Maybe Marc’s pulling a prank at his expense and a horde of paparazzi await on the other side, starved for photos, starved for scandals. Normally, he wouldn’t think Marc capable of that. But their situation is anything but normal, surreal in the weirdest way, so that shadow of doubt settles itself at the back of his head against his will.

He takes a glance at the watch, counting how many hours it’s been since he left home, when a dark eye appears in the crack between the door and the frame.

“Hey there.” Marc moves aside to let him in. “You’re earlier than I expected.”

He goes in for the hug immediately and Valentino’s arms fall open, welcoming it. Marc comes with warmth and a smell of a citrus shampoo clinging onto him, swirling into Valentino’s nose, evoking a deep inhale. Valentino feels a pointed chin propped on his shoulder and also arms wrapped around his neck, teasing the sensitive skin below his hairline. He shivers slightly, Marc’s breath a stark contrast to his cool flesh, little puffs of air fanning over it. There are also droplets of water wetting his coat, falling from Marc’s hair onto the fabric, forming small stains. He must’ve just finished showering, Valentino figures, as there’s a towel wrapped around Marc’s neck and he’s only wearing a pair of joggers, his torso bare and very distracting.

Valentino needs a second to think of something to say that wouldn’t be anything along the lines of _you feel nice pressed against me_ or something equally cringeworthy. “The flight was good and surprisingly, there’s not much traffic,” is what he comes up with, not his most eloquent moment. But it could’ve gone worse. 

Marc nods, understandingly. “You’re cold,” he comments, his teeth clinking, little tremors shaking his limbs. 

Valentino’s hands move on their own. He rubs Marc’s arms, the woollen gloves providing a lot of warmth, trying to share a bit of heat with him, palms moving on damp skin. He’s thankful for so many layers of clothing separating them, acting as a fence, because the possible skin on skin contact is providing him with too many ideas. 

“It’s snowing, that’s why,” he says, trying not to stare at Marc’s very muscular, very _naked_ chest. 

They pull apart and it might’ve been thirty seconds or maybe a few minutes, Valentino’s lost the sense of time. It’s reluctant, on his part at least, the pleasant tingling gone from his mark, leaving only numbness in its place. It took a surprisingly short amount of time to get accustomed to Marc’s hugs, or rather re-accustomed. Relearn. Remember them. 

Marc’s eyes go wide and his whole face lights up. “Is it?” Quickly, he steps towards the windows, pulling the curtains aside. His nose is plastered to the glass as it catches his breath, steaming over, forming a semi-transparent patch. 

(Marc doesn’t waste the opportunity to draw a crooked smily face on it.)

“Snowball fight later?” he suggests, his grin nothing short of devilish, as he glances back and forth between the window and Valentino. 

When he’s like that, open, mischievous and almost glowing with excitement, Valentino would’ve probably agreed to anything Marc asked for. Be it something completely ridiculous, like a snowball fight, and _shit, he’s nearing forty, it’s no time for that,_ or something serious, requiring effort, he’d have probably said yes either way. 

“I’ll go leave the suitcase in my room first, okay?” He says instead, not agreeing, not disagreeing. He bends to pick the suitcase up, pulling on the handle to extend it so it fits his height. 

“Here’s the room,” Marc points out absent-mindedly while he’s rummaging through his backpack. 

_What did you just say?_

“We have one room?”

It can’t be. Marc wouldn’t, would he..?

Marc drops the phone he was holding, and it crashes against the floor noisily; Valentino watches as he scurries to pick it up, the earphones disconnecting when he pulls on the cable, and he takes in their surroundings, the room’s décor.

“But there are two beds,” Marc quickly assures. “We won’t have to sleep together.” 

Despite the cheeriness in his voice, the nervous hints slip in there, not lost on Valentino’s ears.

_You wouldn’t want to sleep in one bed with me, that’s not a surprise._

And it’s most likely a good thing, he concludes, since he cannot imagine sleeping in the same bed with Marc, either. Because that would cross a few lines he’s not quite ready to cross. And honestly, he shouldn’t want to cross them in the first place, because really? Sleeping with Marc? That’s bizarre both when taken in a literal sense and even more ridiculous in the _having sex_ sense.

But the worst thing is, he had had that dream, the one he woke up from with sweat on his temples, heart racing, too tight boxers and face burning from the images conjured by his brain. 

He shudders at the memory, suddenly not sure at all that meeting Marc here today was a good decision, and only Luca’s words, _there has to be some attraction there, duh,_ keep him from leaving here and now. 

“It’s fine.” He tries to keep his voice stable, almost succeeds. “I hope you don’t sleep naked?”

Marc’s laughter is every bit as nervous as Valentino’s, unnatural pitch slipping in. “Only at my house in Andorra, where no one can see,” he answers, searching through his clothes for something to wear, as if to prove the point. 

Valentino’s not imagining Marc in his Andorran house, getting up and the first rays of sun hitting his skin, illuminating it with soft light. He doesn’t imagine the muscles flexing as Marc stretches slowly, arching back and spreading arms above his head, standing on the tips of his toes as he reaches for the mug, somehow always left on the highest shelf. And he most definitely doesn’t imagine his own hands on Marc’s skin, massaging Marc’s shoulders to ease that little bit of lingering tension, moving onto his chest and then sliding lower- 

He gives himself a mental smack on the face. What the hell.

Changing the topic and rather quickly, that’s what what he needs to do asap or else things might go too far and he might end up embarrassing himself. “I should unpack, then,” Valentino states to focus on something else. 

While he’s taking his stuff out of the suitcase, Marc grabs a shirt and pulls it on, which is both a relief and a disappointment at the same time. Valentino did enjoy the view, he won’t lie, but well, it wouldn’t be good staring at Marc’s chest instead of his face. His mind has already wandered too far. His own coat is hanging on the rack, slightly damp from the melted snow, and he can’t help but adjusting either the collar or the cuffs of that shirt Luca chose for him, wondering whether Marc approves or if he noticed at all. 

When he closes the wardrobe, all his belongings neatly stacked inside, Valentino sits on his bed, back propped against a pillow. Marc must’ve noticed, as he pauses whatever he was doing on his phone, and Valentino lets a deep exhale out, the air swishing through his lips. 

“So, what are we doing?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What an amazing race, I still haven't managed to fully calm down, whoa. 
> 
> I had to split this chapter into two parts, otherwise it would be ridiculously long, but hopefully it's fine this way? Even if it's kind of a cliffhanger. Hope you guys enjoyed it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, commenting and leaving kudos <3


	14. Chapter 14

_December 2016_

“So, what are we doing?”

There’s a low grumble coming from around the level of Valentino’s belly. His stomach twists, empty as he’s long digested that small breakfast from earlier, eaten even before travelling to the airport. 

Marc laughs mirthfully, head falling back. “I think that’s your answer.”

Valentino hears him calling some number, ordering room service. The local dishes aren’t something he’s going to risk, so he goes for the safe option and chooses Italian. He can’t go wrong with that. And Marc seems to be having similar thoughts, since he does the same, copying Valentino’s order. It’s not much time before they’re both sat at the table, not next to each other but rather on the opposite sides, though it’s small enough that there isn’t a lot of space left.

“Well, it’s not a three star restaurant,” Marc comments, and Valentino glances at the plates of pasta in front of them, _yeah, not exactly the most exclusive thing._ “But it’s not too bad?” Marc continues, taking another forkful into his mouth. 

Valentino hums, chewing the food properly before he speaks. “It’s okay. Pretty good.” Doesn’t have anything on actual Italian pasta, but it’s decent and even if it weren’t, he probably wouldn’t mind too much, Marc’s company making up for the taste. 

“We’re only missing the candles, I need to find one to make it romantic,” Marc states between one bite and another. He looks around, scanning the room, as if trying to find one he could place on the table, without much success. 

Valentino coughs, almost choking on a noodle, and grabs the glass of water in a haste.

He knows it’s just humour on Marc’s part, the jokes an integral part of his nature, but Valentino’s already imagining lighting up those candles, placed next to two glasses of chilled wine. The lights are too dim for his taste too, the day rather dark and the light bulbs not as strong as he’d like them to be. And, summed up, it all comes way too close to his vision of what a date would look like. Which they’re clearly not on. 

“We’ll deal without them, I think,” Valentino answers weakly, burying sight in his plate. He digs the fork into the pasta, twirling it around to get more food onto it, but some of it falls, splashing the sauce around. Thankfully, it doesn’t form stains on his pristine shirt, though he thinks no difference would’ve been made had he worn one of the regular t-shirts he owns. 

Marc’s face falls, corners of his lips lowering, shoulders sagging, and Valentino wonders when did he acquire all those acting skills; it looks almost too real. He swears Marc didn’t have those before. 

Then again, he realizes, he doesn’t really know much about Marc at all.

“How’s your break going?” Valentino asks, trying to find a point he could hang onto. It does sound kind of silly, a bit random,but Marc gulps, swallowing the food hurriedly. He lets go of the fork, Valentino following the gestures his hand is drawing in the air.

“Not much of a break until now.” Marc states. “With all the sponsor stuff, I’ve hardly had time for relax.” 

He goes on and on, about the advertisements he had to star in, the countries he’s been to in last two weeks and also how he’s working on a new clothing line, Pull&Bear more than happy to allow it once more. Valentino nods, absorbing all the new information Marc shares so freely. Alex is mentioned frequently too, what they have been up to during those few days they got to spend together back in Cervera

“I’ll have one of my hoodies prepared for you.” Marc grins cheekily. “For once you’ll be wearing my name.”

It’s clear what he hints at, the letters scrawled onto him a little below the line of his pants. At times, it escapes from Valentino’s mind that he isn’t the only one marked, that the connection isn’t a one-way thing. That the torment he’s been going through is possibly, _probably_ mutual. 

“You wish,” Valentino counters as he puts the cutlery back on the plate, metal clinking against porcelain. But, scarily, he doesn’t find himself objecting to the idea, not truly. There’s something unnatural, _alien_ about the idea of wearing a number other than his own, a kind of oddity, but more in the sense of not being used to it rather than being against it. 

Marc shrugs, wiping his mouth. “A man can dream,” he says, the expression on his face matching the words, and again, _those acting skills._ “You want a beer?” he then asks, pushing the chair back before he receives the answer. 

Valentino nods, clearing his throat as it has dried a bit. He observes as Marc grabs two bottles, opens them, offering one to him. The glass is cold and moist below his fingers and he takes a sip slowly, letting the taste spread in his mouth. Marc joins him shortly, a beer of his own in a hand, gulping as the alcohol makes its way down his throat. 

A droplet of it escapes, runs down the corner of Marc’s lips, and Valentino stops himself in the last moment before his thumb wipes it off, almost a reflex, an automatic response. “You have a bit of it spilled here-” he points to the spot, tensing with the change of atmosphere. 

Marc’s tongue swipes over his lips to get it. “Now better?”

But it’s not better, not for Valentino, because Marc leans closer, reduces the distance between them, and now Valentino can see the freckles scattered on his cheeks, smell Marc’s perfume going into his nose and feel his own breathe catch in his throat for a second. “All clean,” he confirms, not trusting his voice to say anything more than that.

He wonders whether they’ll stop being this awkward with each other anytime soon, as if treading on the thin ice they’re trying to rebuild the relationship on. How much longer will this go on? 

And he isn’t sure he’ll able to stand this tension for much longer, the sparks flying between them, the air almost cracking with static. He cannot tell whether he’s the only one affected, either; it seems so, as Marc’s behaviour doesn’t differ much from how he used to be, not betraying him as much as Valentino’s body probably does. Only those slightly too long stares, little moments of hesitation on Marc’s side, could be small clues, something he wouldn’t have taken notice of, had it not been for Luca’s sheer confidence that there might be something there. 

Marc hums approvingly, satisfied with the answer. He tilts the bottle, drinks some more, and it forces Valentino to avert his eyes for a moment when Marc’s lips wrap around the glass neck. 

“Fancy a walk?” Valentino proposes. The last gulps of beer make it down his throat, drunk hastily, while he tries to pay attention to that soap opera he doesn’t understand a word of that’s being played on TV. He needs air, space to clear his head, cold to cool him down. 

Marc’s confusion reflects on his face. “Right now?” 

“Sure.”

_Is that not okay? Or maybe you don’t want to go anywhere with me? You’re afraid of getting found out?_

And maybe it would be wise, not attracting any more attention than is necessary, not appearing anywhere arm in arm. Not being seen together. But Valentino can’t do wise anymore, not when there is Marc involved. And, he hopes, maybe Marc doesn’t want to fall into that trap, either.

The plates form a pile as Marc puts one on the other, the cutlery shining on top. “Okay, let’s go.” It all lands in the sink, stacked neatly and rinsed with hot water, _so the remnants of food don’t cling onto it,_ Marc explains.

The comment, obviously lacking seriousness, escapes Valentino’s lips when he’s packing the wallet into the back pocket of his pants. “You’d make a good housewife.”

“Sure.” Marc pulls both his own jacket and Valentino’s coat from the rack. “When I retire – probably earlier than you-” he can’t resist the tease, “I can be a housewife, you know, like those heroines from old movies. Waiting anxiously till his man returns from the war. Or race, in this case.” He stares at the window longingly, heaves a deep sight and places a hand over his heart dramatically. 

Valentino can’t resist the snort. 

He pulls arms through the sleeves of his coat and adjusts the collar. “I think you should stick to racing. Your acting career might be a little less stellar.” The buttons slip through his fingers, missing the holes. It takes three attempts to get the second to last done, because his hands are still affected by the small trembling. 

“You won’t be cold?” Marc asks, gesturing towards Valentino’s bare neck. The hat is pulled low on his face, covering most of his eyebrows and his eyes are kind of hidden, too; it even has a pompom, bouncing when Marc looks up from tying shoelaces, and Valentino needs to hold himself back from running a hand over it, over Marc’s head, his cheek. 

He pulls out the gloves from the pocket of his coat, putting them on. “I’ll be fine. Forgot the scarf at home.” He could use an additional button on the coat, so the collar would be tied together closely, but he’ll make do with what he has. 

The answer doesn’t seem to satisfy Marc as his eyebrows furrow, little wrinkles are on his nose, and he straightens back, pulling himself up. “Wait a moment.” 

Marc takes a scarf from a shelf, unfolding it by catching each end between his fingers, stretching it to its full length. Valentino follows his movements, how he comes closer right until they’re able to gaze at each other directly, and then how Marc wraps the fabric around Valentino’s neck, tying a neat knot. “There you go.” 

Valentino’s fingers catch the fabric, feeling it. It must’ve been worn by Marc before as it carries his scent, not strong, but Valentino’s nose is able to catch it whenever he takes a breath. He’s sure Marc wants to kill him, maybe it’s his new strategy for having less competition in the next season. Not like he’d need it, but it has only been a few hours since Valentino arrived here and he’s begging to think he might not leave intact, his nerves battered by Marc’s actions. 

He loosens the scarf a bit. The too strong hold might be and most likely is a result of his imagination, but he needs it less tight to breathe properly. “Thanks.”

Marc’s the first to step outside, his eyes lighting up. Valentino follows behind, taking a few long strands to catch up. The temperature has dropped since the time he arrived in the hotel, the wind picking up a bit, so he tugs the scarf closer again, hiding half of his face behind the wool and trying everything not to inhale the scent, not succeeding at the task. They walk slowly towards where the city centre supposedly is, as Marc claims, not once bothered by some stranger on the streets. 

“Christmas is coming,” Marc states the obvious quietly; Valentino takes in the decorations, the trees illuminated by colourful lights in almost every shop window, joined by reindeer and Santa Claus figures.

Giving Marc a side glance, he grins knowingly. “Already waiting for the gifts, are you?”

So far, he himself hasn’t given Christmas much thought, too preoccupied with _Marc_ of all people. 

It hits him suddenly, that there’s only three weeks left, how the time flies by too fast. And while fast is his default mode, has been for the majority of his life, it also means he’s getting closer and closer to the silver threads weaved through his hair, skin no longer smoothing after each grimace, the speed of healing wounds and bruises dropping. 

He pulls a stray strand behind his ear, then hiding it under the beanie. _Maybe I should shave it?_ He puts the thought away for now, something to consider later.

The snow crunches under their shoes, the trails left in their path. The flakes are falling slowly, adding to those already scattered on the ground, and Valentino can’t exactly tell why, but there’s some uneasiness creeping into his mind, the topic of their conversation something he’d rather avoid.

“Ah, found out.” The composure Marc tried to keep crumbles, the _caught in flagranti act,_ along with the widening eyes and the sharp inhale, falling. “I should start giving all those watches from getting poles as gifts. No idea what to do them.”

“Getting too many pole positions, what a tragic life you live,” Valentino mocks, voice full of pretend concern. He wraps an arm around Marc’s shoulders, tries to be casual about it, hopes he is, that he isn’t giving away too much, not scaring Marc away. “I can relieve you of your pain and win those Q2 myself, that’s what a good friend I am.” 

He wonders if it isn’t too much, if he hasn’t crossed any line by chance by calling himself a friend. He isn’t sure, if they could be called friends. Truthfully, he doesn’t know a word that would describe their relationship properly. There are too many aspects, factors that should be taken into account to name the sequence of events that led them to where they are now. 

Simply, and oh, what an ironic word in that context, it’s all so complicated.

“Now that I think about it–” Marc bends, his back turned to Valentino. It gives Valentino a perfect view of his rear, the jacket just about reaching Marc’s hipbones, and he needs to look elsewhere, not stare again. “Soulmates need to have each other’s backs,” Marc finishes the sentence. Then, he turns back and swings, breaking into a fit of jajajas that he doesn’t even try to contain after achieving his goal. 

Valentino blinks a few times, wiping his mouth with the back of the glove to get rid of the remains of what used to be a loosely formed snowball. He can taste the melted snowflakes in his mouth, cold and slightly gross, and it takes all of his willpower no to spit right on the ground, below their feet. 

However, he doesn’t retaliate. He’s far too stunned for that after having their connection referenced so blatantly for the first time, Marc verbally acknowledging it. Marc admitting that they are, indeed, soulmates, the fate having chosen them for each other. So far, neither of them haven’t spoken of it like that. It’s always been implied, _there,_ but never talked about openly. 

“Yeah, they should,” Valentino coughs out in response, overwhelmed. 

His reaction, thankfully, seems to be lost on Marc. Instead, Marc stops in front of one oh the shops, eyeing the clothes. “Got any plans?” He turns to Valentino for a second before looking back. “For Christmas?” 

_Plans for Christmas?_

Valentino has none. 

Normally, what he did for the last who knows how many years, he’d spend it with Linda. Earlier with Marco. There were also Fabio and Giulia. And before them, his mother would sit him at the table next to little Luca, for whom Valentino’s presence seemed to be the best gift of them all. 

This year, he won’t have a plus one to share the Christmas days with. 

And he cannot exactly invite himself to spend that time with either of his parents, with their new families. Now when he’s this old, when he’s on his own, and not when he feels like he doesn’t fit in either with his mother’s current husband or with his father’s current wife. Luca’s and Clara’s convictions or not.

“Don’t know yet.” _Probably not any._ “We’re having a team dinner after Christmas. The crew will be there, Maverick too. And I’m sure my boys will come to the Ranch, if the weather is fine.”

What he looks forward to the most. 

“Sounds like fun,” Marc says, but to Valentino, it doesn’t sound like he fully means it. “My mom doesn’t let me or Alex nowhere near the bikes during Christmas.”

Valentino blinks, not really surprised. “Then sneak out maybe?” he proposes. 

That’s what he’d do, what he has done numerous times before.

Marc’s laughter breaks through the sound of traffic and some cover of _All I Want For Christmas Is You,_ coming from the speaker on the outside of one of the shops. “She would find out and she would kill us. Not risking it!” There’s a shudder running through his body in a comical manner, as if even the thought of his mother’s wrath was too much. 

_You wouldn’t want to defy her, I get that,_ Valentino thinks. _But then, why are you here, with me?_

He’s more than sure Marc’s mother wouldn’t approve. 

It’s not something he gets to dwell on for long, however. He hears Marc curse, catches a movement in his peripheral vision. Thankfully, there’s no need for him to take action, as Marc, just like on the tracks, steadies himself just in time not to land with his face on the ground. 

They pull into the nearest alley, the laces in Marc’s shoes loose and flailing with his every step. There is a small roof coming out of one of the walls, providing them a shelter from the flakes swirling around as Marc crouches, tying the unruly strings. When he leans forward, the hood of his jacket falls on his head; Valentino pulls it back, the urge to tug on the pompom appearing again. He flicks it, watching as it bounces from side to side, ignoring Marc’s inquiring gaze. 

“Not fair, I can’t even retaliate,” Marc complains, as he pats Valentino’s beanie, laying flat against his head. 

Swatting his hand away, Valentino pulls the beanie lower on his forehead. “Tough luck,” he says. 

“Actual luck is here, look,” Marc points out and also points with a finger towards the space above their heads.

Valentino follows the movement, his heart speeding when he notices what exactly Marc is trying to show him. Of course, there is fucking _mistletoe_ there, a few branches hanging on some kind of a hook, _what a luck indeed._

Marc gets up, smoothers his jacket, and now they’re standing so close, too close, and Valentino doesn’t dare think what this might mean, what Marc’s next move could be 

Desperately, he tries to think of a joke, of a comment that would break the moment. It could be a joke on Marc’s part, any second he could break into a fit of laugher, and Valentino’s not ready for his stomach to drop, for getting that tiniest bit of hope crushed. Not ready for another disappointment. 

But his mind is blank, empty, a white page not filled with anything. He watches as Marc’s heels lose the contact with the ground, how now he’s standing on the tips of his toes. 

And how, suddenly, Marc leans in, Valentino feeling minty breath on his face and then, warmth against his flesh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys won't kill me for ending the chapter here. Sorry, but the opportunity was too good and the chapter was already getting too long!
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read till the end <3

It’s a kiss on the cheek. Marc kisses him on his right cheek. 

And it feels like a slap to the face, as if Marc struck him with an open palm, the part of his skin Marc’s lips made contact with burning intensely, stinging and heating up simultaneously. It takes all of Valentino’s willpower not to rub the spot, not to rake his nails on the flesh in hopes of soothing the itch and the disappointment it comes with. It would betray that he wanted the kiss to be real, that he wanted more, and that’s something that cannot be known. 

Marc pulls away, a small smile playing around his lips, and it makes Valentino queasy, both his throat and stomach tight, hands suddenly losing all their warmth. He tries to keep his composure, not let any of those reactions break on the surface, but at the same time, he cannot miss how Marc takes a step back, puts arms closer to his body, wraps them in front of his chest. How they’re standing barely a metre from each other, but suddenly, it feels like there’s a wall separating them that wasn’t here a minute ago.

“We’re going?” Marc questions, and to Valentino, it’s so obvious he wants to get as far away from here as possible.

Schooling his face in a cheerful mask, the same one he puts on for the media, Valentino agrees, leading the way this time. “Let’s go.”

He says nothing more, and Marc’s occasional attempts at striking a conversation are barely answered as Valentino can hardly focus on anything but the weight that’s settled in his stomach and the crushing disappointment that he tries to ignore. He smiles weakly at a story Marc tells him, something about childhood and accidentally getting Alex into trouble, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, only pulling at the lips a bit.

His acting skills aren’t as good as Marc’s, it seems. 

“Coffee?” Marc nods towards one of the coffee shops. It’s small, not one of those huge Starbucks-like chains, from the outside seems to have a cosy air around it. 

Valentino considers it for a moment. It’s not like things could go any worse, right? It’s not like there’s another disappointment waiting for him behind the glass door, near the steaming cups or the plates of colorful cakes. 

“Might as well,” in the end, he agrees. 

A blow of warm air hits their faces when they enter, contrasting with the chill of the outside. Valentino pulls on the scarf, untangling it from his neck, and almost sighs in relief, finally free from Marc’s scent. While at the beginning, right after Marc put it on him, it was nothing but pleasant, now, he folds it quickly, keeping it in a palm, as far away as he can. 

He follows where Marc’s eyes land on the menu, various types of coffee described in an ornate font. “Order for me?” Marc turns to him, and even in that moment Valentino’s graced with all of his attention, fully focused. “Just a regular espresso. I’ll go find us a table meantime.”

Marc takes his wallet out and moves towards the counter. “Okay.”

After receiving confirmation, Valentino scans the room, searching for some sitting space. There is a free table in one of the corners, secluded enough to give them the necessary privacy, hidden behind a plant, so he goes for that one, choosing the chair nearest the wall. He falls onto it, not even bothering to hang the coat on the rack, and takes a deep breath, letting his lungs fill with air. 

While waiting for Marc to get the coffee, he checks all the planes home, even tickets for the economy class and wow, he hasn’t travelled in that one for so many years, but for today, there’s nothing. The earliest departure is in the next morning, nothing can be done. 

Even that can’t go well, can it? He’s stuck here at least until tomorrow, with Marc, in one room, and even the air traffic is against him, even the planes are having a laugh at him. Brilliant, just brilliant. Judging by his luck, the flight will be delayed just to add to everything. 

Slumping on the chair and with no other options left, he books the ticket and hopes, prays that somehow he’ll be able to survive the night. 

The tray is shaking slightly when Marc’s approaches him, doing everything in his will not to spill anything. “They only made the heart on mine. That’s heartbreaking,” he pouts, corner of his lips turning downwards in an act of pretend sadness. 

Valentino bites on his tongue not to say _not only that is heartbreaking._

He takes the cup from Marc, thanking him, and blows softly on the steaming liquid, before taking a sip. It’s dark and bitter, a perfect fit to his mood, burning his tongue like Marc’s lips were burning his cheek. 

Marc stirs his own drink, the spoon clinking at the walls of the cup after he adds some sugar to it. “Don’t tell Honda about this,” he points to small packet, now laying torn on the table, bringing a finger to his mouth in a _shhhh_ gesture. “Can’t let them know how my diet looks off season.” 

“As if that could stop you,” Valentino blurts out. The compliment is nothing but sincere, he’s been impressed by Marc’s set of skills ever since the beginning and beating him does seems harder than beating any of the other rival he’s faced up until now. 

And he’s fine with it, but it won’t stop him from trying. What he most definitely doesn’t need though is the cheering up, Marc squeezing his shoulder, trying to make him feel better. “You almost did this year.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch.” The difference in points between them was more that _just a bit of a stretch._ “Besides, flattery won’t get you anywhere.” 

_And it won’t get me anywhere, either._

Valentino can’t tell what Marc’s trying to achieve with those words, but at least his own attempt at humour is fairly successful, despite the fact that he’s not feeling like it at all. The burning should’ve been gone by now, but his right cheek still seems hotter than the left, the stinging taking a shape of Marc’s lips, and there’s little that could lift his mood right now. 

“I had a bit of luck with your DNFs,” Marc comments. Mugello is still as vivid in Valentino’s memory as it was on the day of the race. “Actually, I was quite stressed after last year.” 

Cautiously, Valentino puts the cup down. “Same.” The end of that season is not something he ever wants to go back to. It’s almost like he aged ten years in the span of a few weeks and it all showed in his mind rather than body. “Can’t say I’m particularly happy with being second, but this one’s better than the last.” 

He looks at Marc, then around the coffee shop. It still amazes him, what he’s doing, where and especially with whom. Last year, he couldn’t have imagined that things would evolve into what they are now. For a second, a thought passes through his mind that perhaps it would’ve been better, that he wouldn’t have to go through all the torment he’s plagued by right now. It disappears as quickly as it appeared, though, replaced by a wave of memories, some old and some more recent, all of them starring Marc. And he’s ready to admit, even if only to himself, that he had missed Marc, those smiles sent his way, even if before he had been interpreting them in an innocent manner, not counting on the possibility of there being something more to them. Unlike now. 

_I’m screwed. Truly and utterly screwed._

It takes quite the effort for him not to either facepalm or hit his head on the nearest hard surface. Only being in public stops him, attracting attention, and even if no one recognized him, it’s still something he’d rather avoid. 

“It’s nice,” Marc comments, apropos of nothing. 

It’s most likely a good thing, changing the direction where the conversation is going, Valentino thinks. That last season is a sensitive topic for both of them; he fears the talk might not have ended well. 

He crumples the napkin, tearing at one of the edges, before forming a ball out of it. “What is?” 

“This,” Marc points to the coffees, to himself, to Valentino. “Being able to sit here with you without any paparazzo around, without being watched all the time.”

Valentino regards him attentively. “You sure there aren’t any?” He’s been caught in unexpected places before, he can’t help asking, making sure. 

“I made sure. We’re safe.” The confidence is reflected both on Marc’s face and in his voice, and somehow, Valentino puts the trust into him. The stakes are high for both of them, their meeting couldn’t be explained in an easy way; it’s the exact reason why he fails to see the logic behind Marc’s actions, willing to take that risk and for the sake of what?

The answer is not something he can come up with.

They fall into silence for a moment, only disturbed by the low sound of the radio, news in the language neither of them understands currently on air. 

Marc’s confession takes him by surprise as he almost chokes on a gulp of coffee, wheezing. He stares in wonder as the words fall from Marc’s lips, confident and sincere. “I’m happy you came here.”

_You can’t do that to me._

Marc cannot be doing that to him, first crushing his hopes with one small action and then saying lines like that. Maybe Marc’s one of those who believe that friends can be soulmates too, that the bond doesn’t have to be tinted with any romance. Maybe for him, it’s enough. But for Valentino, it isn’t. Never was. 

“Me too,” Valentino coughs out, throat clogged, voice not fully stable. It’s entirely possible that Marc caught on that, but he doesn’t comment, and Valentino’s glad he managed to avoid at least that one, the excuses and explanations. 

It’s more of a _was happy to come here_ in his case, at least in the beginning he was, rather than the present tense Marc’s using.

The last droplets disappear from his cup when he’s pushing the chair back, putting the coat on again. “I’m a bit tired after the trip.” A small lie. Harmless, mostly. “Can we go back to the hotel?” 

“Sure, sure.” The way Marc’s agreement is said is too fast, in a hurry, and he gets dressed just as fast, pulling on the zip of his jacket as it gets stuck halfway through. “Shit,” he curses, yanking on it. “Can you help me?” 

Valentino curses as well, only the words stay in his mind, never leaving the mouth. He can’t say no, can he? He can’t refuse helping Marc, but that means getting closer and also touching Marc, even if through multiple layers of clothing, and he wonders if his brain has always been so overactive, or if it’s a recent development, _caused_ by Marc. 

He comes closer, tries to ignore the way Marc’s looking at him. Thankfully, he manages to zip the jacket at first try, the fabric closing over Marc’s broad chest, and his thumb brushes Marc’s chin by accident when it’s pulled all the way up.“There you go.”

His mark is quick to react to the tiniest touch. 

As a thank-you, Marc sends him one of those smiles that speed his heart up, dry his mouth. “Thanks, Vale.”

Valentino feels silly, reacting like that. His reactions are silly, he’s way too old for that and yet, Marc once again manages to get out of him something that probably no other person could. Unconsciously, his hand lands on his hip, rubbing the spot, a habit he hasn’t realized he acquired until recent times. 

“You’re welcome,” he mutters, before quickly making his way outside, grateful for the cold out there. 

The way back takes them less time, but he can’t tell if their steps are faster, or if the reason behind this is his own imagination. It must be the first, since Marc’s a little behind him, a little bit of physical distance building up, adding to the emotional one. He cannot resist having a smoke, pulling the lighter out, the nicotine calming his nerves when it reaches his lungs, spreading there. 

“It’s not good for your health.” Marc snatches the cigarette from him, stomps on it. “Take care of it. I don’t want to be left without a soulmate at such a young age,” he jokes. 

“Mhm.” _And my theory about you only caring about having a soulmate, not really about me, turns out to be true, doesn’t it?_ “I’ll try.” 

He falls back into a step, accidentally stomping on a patch of ice. He couldn’t have worn appropriate boots, because why would he, so he finds himself slipping and only those tonnes of balance exercises prevent him from possibly breaking a bone or two. 

Marc’s worried expression makes him feel even more like a fool. “I’m fine. You know, sometimes old people can’t walk straight,” he disregards the incident, attempting a laugh which isn’t much sincere.

Soon enough, they’re in the elevator, the screen showing the floors they’re passing by. Marc appears to lack a sense of personal space, peering over his shoulder at the buttons, and Valentino regrets having stood in this spot, not squeezing himself in the corner of the elevator. Actually, letting himself be in a small enclosed space with Marc was his first mistake. 

He almost falls out of the elevator when they arrive on the right floor, and the two of them barely make it through the door of their room before Valentino flings himself towards the bathroom. 

“I’ll go take a shower,” he says, grabbing the first clothes he finds, not waiting for Marc’s response. 

Inside, he cringes when the door lock clicks too loud for his liking, before beginning to undress slowly. He fights with the buttons of the shirt, the annoying plastic not wanting to let go, and he almost rips one of them out in frustration. His pants and boxers land in the same pile as that shirt, crumpled and kicked into a corner, the socks on top of it all. 

After turning the tap on, he doesn’t wait for the water to heat up, shivering when the cold hits his flesh. Maybe it’ll cool his head too, he hopes. Be the wake up call, wash away what was left in the place where his hopes of _maybe this time it will work_ used to reside. 

_How many times will I fall in the same trap?_

He never seems to learn. It’s the same mistake, made over and over again. 

Pressing forehead against the cold tiles, Valentino lets the water run through his hair and trail down his face, splashing on the floor. The amount of time he spends under the shower spray is long, too long; his fingertips are wrinkled and the water isn’t hot anymore, has turned lukewarm, and there is no doubt it will be cold soon. But getting out of the shower means having to face Marc again and Valentino isn’t ready for that, not yet. 

He stands there a little longer, observing the water disappearing down the drain. However, there are only so many minutes he can waste, so finally he opens the glass door and reaches for the towel. 

The t-shirt he pulls on is kind of crumpled, and he doesn’t care much about the state of the shorts, either. There’s no point in dressing up anymore. There probably wasn’t any in the first place. He avoids looking at his hip too, doesn’t want to see what’s written there, what got him in this mess. 

But the one thing that bothers him is the contradiction between Marc’s actions and what leaves his mouth.

_Why did you acknowledge that we were soulmates? Why did you want to meet me here?_

Valentino sighs, catching his reflection in the mirror for the last time before going back to the room. There, Marc is sprawled over the sofa, head propped on one of the pillows and legs spread wide, more laying than sitting. He stretches his limbs, groans quietly, and that sound forces Valentino to gulp, swallow what little spit is left in his dry mouth. 

“Took you long enough. What were you doing?” Marc asks, and the implication is clear in the teasing tone of his voice.

Valentino plays along, winking, his answer almost a purr. “Guess.” He cannot exactly tell Marc what he was actually doing, so that seems like the best solution. 

It gets him a laugh, the too loud sound drilling in his head, Marc waggling his eyebrows, but not evoking a similar response. Valentino carefully chooses the distance between himself and Marc on the sofa, making sure not a centimetre of their bodies touches. Or he thought not even a centimetre would touch, but that plan turns into dust as Marc moves closer, disregarding any of his personal space, and now that they’re sitting arm in arm, Valentino feels like running away again. 

“We could watch a movie?” Marc suggests. He has the remote control in a hand, browsing the various titles they could choose from, and Valentino doesn’t know how to refuse without having Marc question his motives. 

“We can,” in the end, he gives up. It’s too early to sleep, that’s not something he can use as an excuse, but he’s intent on choosing the most stupid movie there is. “This one,” he tells Marc when some scene of an ongoing shooting with low quality special effects shows up on the screen. 

Bad enough that he won’t have to focus on it. 

His choice seems to surprise Marc, which, in turn, is not a surprise in itself. “If that’s what you want, then fine.” Marc hits _play_ and allows himself to sink in the pillow, relaxing.

Valentino can’t say the same thing about himself, though. Because Marc’s head is way too close to his shoulder, as if he were planning on placing it there, as if they were playing the main characters in some stupid romantic comedy. And it couldn’t be further from the truth. 

_Because in a stupid romantic comedy there would be a happy end._

Hopefully discreetly, he shifts, moving away a bit, so that Marc won’t get the chance to do anything that could mess with his head even more. It’s hard to tell, nearly impossible to pinpoint the exact moment the things changed, but what Marc’s willing to offer him is far from enough, far from what Valentino would like to get. And if he can’t have what he wants, then maybe it’s better not to take anything from Marc at all. 

“Vale?”

“Hmm?” he hums, turning towards Marc. 

The movie is paused, something he only noticed now, and Marc’s fiddling with the remote control, taking the battery cover off and putting it back on. “We can do something else, if you want,” he says, catching the plastic that flies out of his hold before it hits the floor. His expression no longer that of amusement after having shifted into something much more reserved. 

Now he’s managed to upset Marc too. Great. 

And that thought, the knowledge of being the reason behind that fallen smile, that’s something that shouldn’t cause this need to make things right immediately he has, shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. 

(Valentino doesn’t dare to label the force behind the apologies that threaten to spill from his lips.) 

“No, it’s fine,” quickly, he assures. He pats Marc’s thigh to strengthen the words, hopefully no more explanations of why he’s not paying attention needed. 

Marc doesn’t seem convinced, but he drops the topic, shifting the attention back to the screen. In a swift motion, Valentino takes his hand away, the tingling in his palm remaining even after that. 

_And to think that merely a few hours ago things were going so well._

It must be just his luck, the vicious circle of getting soulmates only to acquire new wounds rather than the happy end he’s been dreaming of for so many years. His fingers itch, the urge to lift his shirt and check how much colour has faded from the mark or whether there’s anything left to look at all overwhelming. Soon, he gives in to the temptation, only to stare continuously, worried his eyes might be misleading him.

Dark as ever. 

Frankly, he can’t tell what is worse – another mark fading away, like all the previous ones, or staying unchanged, but with the knowledge that whatever sentiments Valentino might have, they won’t be returned. 

For the rest of the movie he follows the plot – or rather what was supposed to be the plot, but isn’t much of anything really – half-heartedly, just enough for Marc not to question him anymore. Tomorrow he’ll be back at home, he just needs to get through this and then, he’ll be able to distract himself with bikes and drown in self-pity peacefully. 

When the credits start rolling, Valentino pretends to yawn, covering his mouth with the back of a hand. “I’ll go to sleep, I think,” he says, because he won’t be able to stand this close proximity for much longer. 

When did Marc manage to worm his way under his skin again, Valentino doesn’t know. It happened without his awareness and without his will, an occurrence he couldn’t have foreseen when he first noticed the new mark. 

“Aww, and here I hoped I could keep you up all night.” Marc crosses his legs, leans forward, while Valentino leans backwards, away from him. 

_You probably will. For entirely different reason, though._

Valentino wishes Marc would stop with the jokes, with the flirting. With keeping his hopes up, no matter how small they are now. Once again, he responds in a similar manner, teasing, regardless of how much he wants Marc to let the matter go. “On a first date?” The word _date_ barely goes through his throat. “You’re quick even here, Marquez.” 

Marc’s grin turns sly. “Did it work?” 

“No.” Valentino thanks goodness that they at least have two separate beds. Small mercies. “You’re sleeping alone this night.” 

He pulls on the duvet and fluffs the pillow up, ignoring the noise Marc’s making while rummaging through his belongings. Something must’ve fallen, Valentino guesses, if the hiss Marc lets out can be a clue, so he turns to check if it wasn’t anything serious by chance.

And he gets quite the surprise. 

Not only is Marc fine, he is also parading around the room only in his underwear too, as if he couldn’t put at least a shirt on, and it’s distracting Valentino more than he’s willing to let on. It’s pure torture, because he’d like to run his hands down that chest, feel the muscles under his fingertips, but the awareness that he won’t get to do that never leaves. 

He counts the cracks on the ceiling not to stare, not to let his eyes wander too far or too low. Marc doesn’t seem bothered, not aware of the internal meltdown Valentino’s currently going through. “Shall I kiss you goodnight?” 

Seriously? This is what Marc comes up with? Of all the things he could’ve said, he decides to go with this one, reminding Valentino once again of what he’d rather forget, circling around the topics Valentino wants nothing to do with. _Are you for real?_

Not wanting any suspicions to arise, Valentino blows Marc a kiss, going for a truly exaggerated gesture. “Here you have one.” Full pout and an excessive wave of a hand, that’s his approach, ridiculous to keep his sanity. 

Marc gives as good as he gets, and _those lips were so close to his, he was so close to tasting them._

Then, he disappears in the bathroom for a moment, allowing Valentino a deep breath, a few minutes of peace to order his thought. Or at least attempt to. When Marc re-emerges, he’s still missing a shirt, only having put some sweatpants on, hanging low on his hips, barely there held by the loose string. Valentino is close to start suspecting it isn’t done without a purpose, although he cannot fathom what purpose it could be, what kind of game Marc’s playing at. Whether he’s just vain and likes to be admired, or if there’s something more behind it. 

Marc switches the lights off, using the phone as a flashlight. “Night, Vale.” The mattress dips under his weight, one of the springs squeaking as he settles on the bed. 

“Night,” Valentino answers, but he is well aware that the sleep is nowhere near. 

He rests head on the pillow and lets his eyelids fall shut. It’s difficult to tell how long he’s been laying like that, but the room is so quiet that the only sound that breaks through the silence is Marc’s breathing, the steady inhales and exhales. He must’ve already fallen asleep, Valentino guesses, not bothered by the day’s events. Unlike him.

He turns on his right side, then left, but it’s of no use when his mind is wide awake, conjuring scenarios he wishes he didn’t have to see, reliving the scenes from earlier. Pressing a palm against his cheek doesn’t help with anything, neither did scrubbing it under the shower earlier. 

_I’m an idiot._

He should’ve known better. Should’ve know from the beginning that this isn’t going to end well, that he’ll just ended up making a circle and finish in the same place – with no one to call his and even more scars caused by cruel fate. 

Like every single time. 

By the time sleep finally catches him, the night is already dispersing, soft light entering the room through the partially open curtains. 

Luca’s text, _How’s it going?,_ remains unanswered. 

*

In the morning, Valentino’s already packed before Marc fully wakes up, as if he’s never been in the room. Leaving without saying goodbye did cross his mind, he’d admit that one, but instead, he shakes Marc’s shoulder lightly, watches him stir awake, the awareness of the surroundings hitting slowly. 

“You’re leaving already?” Marc yawns. His hair is sticking in multiple directions, no longer the neatly styled tresses Valentino’s used to, and he blinks, taking in how the bed next to his is made and how Valentino’s belongings are missing. 

“Yeah,” Valentino answers, pushing on the suitcase with his knees, trying to get it to close. “My plane leaves in three hours, and I still need to get to the airport.”

“Oh.” 

_That’s all you have to say? Oh?_ Valentino wonders. He curses when the suitcase refuses to budge, the zip still halfway open. Even that can’t go right, nothing seems to go the right way, and he’s honestly so close to being fed up with everything. 

Marc kneels next to him, one of his hands on the suitcase’s lid, the other on one part of the double zip. “Let me help.” He pushes down on the luggage and it bends after their combined effort, budging. 

Thanking Marc after they succeed at closing it, Valentino moves towards the door, wanting to leave as fast as possible. He throws the coat on, picking up all of his belongings. There’s a moment of hesitation, because he knows he should say goodbye to Marc, he can’t just leave like that, but he has absolutely no idea how to do that.

_Do I hug you like before? It’s probably the best option._

Before he can open his arms to let the embrace happen, he’s stopped by Marc’s movement, picking something up from the wardrobe, and when Marc turns to him, Valentino realizes what he’s holding. 

Marc pushes the soft fabric into his hands. “Keep the scarf.”

Valentino’s ready to decline, refuse, _it will remind me too much of you,_ but he freezes mid-word, his fingers losing the grip they had on the scarf. Marc’s too close again and he’s having a deja vu, the scene something he’s already seen, so he tries to avoid another kiss on the cheek, can’t stand it, wouldn’t want it happening to him again. There’s only so many disappointments he can endure. But in the end, he doesn’t manage to prevent it, and there’s another surprise coming his way, Marc’s actions full of them. 

__There are palms holding his jaw gently, ensuring he doesn’t move, and before Valentino can protest, break free or break away, Marc surges forward, no hesitation involved._ _

__And this time, the kiss is real._ _

__Marc tilts his head lightly, so their noses don’t hit each other, cranes his neck to accommodate for the difference in their statures. Valentino feels him catch his bottom lip between the teeth, sucking on it lightly, Marc’s tongue breaking into his mouth and caressing his own, and he’s heating up, his heart thudding wildly and the tingling spreading from the mark all over his body. Against his will, he’s shaking lightly, legs bending a bit under his weight, the ground seemingly not as stable as it usually is. He holds the gasp in, but only just, Marc effectively rendering him speechless._ _

__The lips are softer than Valentino expected though, smoother than his own and moving in practised motions, trying to coax a response out of him._ _

His instincts finally kick in as he pulls Marc closer, presses their bodies together. His hands settle on Marc’s hips to keep him steady, and for a moment, he pushes the worries away, fully focused on the sensations he hasn’t felt for so long. There’s only Marc, his touch and how he moulds against Valentino’s body, how _eager_ he is and how much Valentino likes that. 

__It doesn’t take much time before Marc gives the control over, before he’s the one following Valentino’s moves and not the other way round. Valentino licks into his mouth, bites teasingly, almost grins when Marc lets out a low groan. At the same time, there are fingertips on the nape of Valentino’s neck, a retaliation of sorts, evoking the shudders from him when they pull on the short hair there and causing his mouth to open further._ _

__It takes very little time for his head to start spinning, all these stimuli he’s receiving making him dizzy in the most wonderful way, and Marc’s hands roaming on his back, then moving back to grip his jaw, send sparks through his nerve endings almost as strong as Marc’s lips do._ _

__After a moment, they pull apart, mouths no longer connected, but bodies still pressed together. His heartbeat is still erratic, similar to his breathing. He doesn’t want to break the moment, but he has to know, desperately needs to have the reason behind Marc’s actions out in the open._ _

__“Why now?” Valentino rasps. “Why not yesterday?”_ _

__The blood is pumping in his ears, the mark pulsating rhythmically and the rush of adrenaline is similar to those he gets after a good race, being rewarded after great effort. His thumb rubs little circles on Marc’s hip, but it’s mostly to calm himself. He finds it hard to breath and pinches the skin on his forearm, discreetly, he hopes, to check if perhaps it all isn’t a mere dream._ _

__Marc’s looking up at him, lips swollen and redder than usual, slightly out of breath, and the smugness that paints itself on his face, how satisfied he seems to be, makes Valentino want to kiss that grin away._ _

__He doesn’t get to, because Marc’s eyes soften and the grin melts into a real smile. “I wanted to kiss you properly then, believe me,” Marc says. “But still, it was in public. I didn’t want to cause a scandal by chance.”_ _

_You have a point, but it doesn’t make me feel better about yesterday._

__In the break between one sentence and another, Marc catches his hand, pulls on the bracelet wrapped around Valentino’s wrist. “And, to be honest,” he continues, rubbing the back of his neck,“I wanted to do this when you were leaving. Just in case you actually wanted to punch me in the face.”_ _

_What?_

__Valentino laughs. He’s laughing so hard it’s bordering on hysterical, his whole body shaking, and Marc’s looking at him worriedly, as if he finally lost his mind, surrendered and succumbed to madness. “You really thought I’d punch you?” _Really?__ _

__Marc shrugs, slightly offended. “What? I didn’t know what to expect.”_ _

__Another wave of chuckles is threatening to spill from his throat, almost there, because _if only Marc knew what he was thinking back then,_ but it gets ruined by the beep and then the vibration in the pocket of his coat. _ _

__Shit. The taxi is here._ _

__He tries to cancel it, best along with the flight too, this turn of events not something he could’ve been able to predict, but Marc must know, must’ve figured it out. Valentino puts the phone back, swallows, and lets his eyes wander over Marc’s face, dark eyes, pointy cheekbones and those lips that tell the story of what they’ve been up to perfectly._ _

__“Go,” Marc urges, squeezing Valentino’s hand, “You’ll be late.”_ _

_I know. And frankly, I don’t care._ “Right,” he says, cursing himself for changing that booking, for leaving so early and not in two days, like he was supposed to. But it’s not like he could tell Marc that, admit it’s a result of assuming things and jumping to conclusions. He already feels stupid enough. 

__For the last time, he allows himself a taste of Marc’s mouth, enjoying the content sigh he gets in response, revealing in it. “Thanks.”_ _

_For that day we spent together, for the kisses. For giving us a chance in the first place. For being brave when I wasn’t._

__There’s a lot he should thank Marc for._ _

__When they pull away, the contact between their skin gone like the sparks from the marks, Marc steps from one foot on the other, swaying from side to side. “I’ll see you again this year?” he asks, and there’s no mistaking that hope laced in the question for anything else._ _

__“Definitely.”_ _

__And this time, hopefully, without any interruptions or stupid assumptions._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting the chapter earlier, but it was getting longer and longer. I could've easily split it in two parts and post the first one, but I didn't want to torture Vale (and you guys?) any longer. I wonder how many of you wanted to murder me after that beginning haha. 
> 
> So, 15 chapters and more than 40k words later we finally get a kiss! We can all go home now haha. Seriously though, please don't, there's still a lot of the story left. 
> 
> I have to say, I'm a bit stressed about this chapter and I'd love to hear what you think about it!
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	16. Chapter 16

On the way home, Valentino can hardly stop himself from grinning. The taxi driver might’ve got a tip that was bigger than the cost of the whole ride to the airport, and one old lady might’ve shown him a gesture that undeniably questioned his sanity, but he couldn’t care less. The endorphins are still buzzing in his body, and he isn’t entirely sure that the tingling of his lips is only a figment of his imagination. 

During the whole flight he’s fidgeting, turning around in the seat, looking left and right. The movie isn’t able to hold his attention for long, the plot not engaging, as there’s only one thing he can focus on. 

_Me and Marc. Fucking unbelievable._

He’s pinched himself a few times already, but he does it one more time to check. To be sure he hasn’t imagined it all, that it wasn’t another of his dreams. His skin reddens and there’s a little bit of pain where his thumb and forefinger pulled on it, so it has to be true. He opens the camera app and switches it to the front view, just in case; his swollen lips and the scarf wrapped around the collar of his coat are the final proof.

When he arrives at the door of his own house it’s already after noon and his stomach is grumbling, reminding him of the skipped breakfast. The keys fall from his hold when he attempts to take the gloves off, his joints a bit stiff from the cold. It takes a few tries for the lock to open, and he groans at the possibility of having to call the locksmith, a pain in the ass considering the circumstances. The cold is biting at his cheeks, so he hides his face in the scarf, Marc’s scent enveloping him again, almost making his head spin, all the pleasant sensations coming back. 

Valentino tries to turn the key once more, and this time, thankfully, the door gives way. 

Inside, he leaves the suitcase in the corridor, throwing the coat on top of it. There are some sounds coming from the living room, vaguely similar to the roar of an engine, so Valentino guesses Luca let himself in, the spare set of keys still in his possession. 

He approaches his little brother slowly, his steps echoing quietly against the floor. “Having fun?”

“Jesus.” Luca jumps up on the sofa, the pad flying out of his hands. “You scared me.”

On the screen, the bike crashes, the race ending and making them both cringe at seeing the impact of the machine hitting one of the walls. Luca frowns at the big _game over,_ blaring red letters and a shrill sound, and presses the button that should take him to the main menu. 

Valentino throws one of the pillows away, sitting next to him, spreading his legs and letting his knees relax. “Sorry, didn’t mean to.”

Sinking in the sofa, he prepares for the incoming questions, for Luca wanting to find out everything that took place during his stay abroad. Nothing surprising, really. He would’ve been equally curious were he in Luca’s place. He tries to think of some kind of excuses, make something up, but nothing comes to his mind. 

“What happened with Marc? I was worried about you,” Luca says, and Valentino senses it in his voice easily. 

He does feel guilty about not answering that text, genuinely, but Luca’s timing really wasn’t the greatest; his own head and heart were a mess, _he_ was a mess, and any kind of reply would’ve ended with ever bigger worries on Luca’s part, most likely. And it should be the other way around, he should be worried about Luca, not his little brother about him.

“I’m sorry,” Valentino apologizes again. He scratches at his cheek, at the stubble he didn’t have the time to shave this morning, prickling his fingertips.“A lot happened.”

_You can’t even imagine how much. And I’m not sure how much I should tell you._

Warily, Luca lets the question out. “Good things, I hope?”

Valentino doesn’t know how to answer that one. At the end of the day, or, technically, at the beginning of the day, things were more than good. Fantastic. The euphoria still hasn’t completely washed away, he can almost taste Marc’s lips on his, and _what a sweet taste that is._ But then, the crushing disappointment that led to that isn’t completely forgotten, either.

Fidgeting a bit, Valentino steals a slice of orange from Luca’s plate. “Both good and bad, actually.” His cryptic answer doesn’t seem to satisfy Luca in the littlest bit, he can tell by the glance Luca sends him, expectant and slightly impatient. “Ehh, it’s a long story?”

“I have time.”

_Sure you do, you nosy brat._

Luca won’t let the topic go, Valentino expected just as much, so he sits more comfortably, preparing to retell the events. 

“So…,” he trails off, not sure where to start. Maybe mentioning how nice Marc’s naked torso is should be skipped, maybe he should omit some parts of the story. So much happened, that day was a roller coaster of emotions, and it’s hard to put all of that into words. 

“Details, Vale.” Luca’s impatience is clearly rising. “You arrived at the hotel and then what?” 

Valentino sits cross-legged, propping elbows on his knees. “Turns out we had only one room,” he says, dragging the sentence. He skips the part about the state he found Marc in when he knocked on the door, leaving it for his knowledge only. His dirty thoughts aren’t something Luca needs to be aware of. 

“And?” Luca prods. “Don’t tell me you expected two? You were on a _date.”_

_You were so right about that date. And it still sounds absurd, being on a date with Marc Marquez, but I’m liking that absurd more and more._

“Shush, don’t interrupt,” jokingly, he scolds. “Then we had food, talked.” Another slice of the orange makes its way into his mouth, his hunger growing at the mention of eating. “You know, normal stuff.”

“Unless you shared spaghetti like they did in Lady and the Tramp, skip it and get to the good parts already,” Luca complains, but falls silent when Valentino throws him a pointed look, _listen or I won’t tell you anything._

Valentino wraps arms in front of his chest, pretending to be engrossed in the view outside. “Things ended up being shit, then turned good. End of story.” 

The whine Luca lets out is a long, low sound. “Valeee, don’t be like that..”

There it is, the little brother shining through Luca’s words, the same type of tonne he’d use to get Valentino to do something for him. Mostly, with success. _I’m weak._

“Fine, fine.” Letting his arms loose, Valentino leans his back against the sofa, getting comfortable. He retells the events of the former day, what they were up, the city they ended in. It’s hard to prevent the smile from pulling at his lips, even more so with Luca leeching on each word, prompting him to say, share more. 

It’s only when he gets to _that_ point that he needs to take a little break, recall something he’d rather not mention. It still tastes sour in his mouth, but now it’s more of his own jumping to conclusions, not Marc’s actions, leaving a bitter trace in the otherwise sugary memories. 

He says it in one breath, getting it out as fast as he can. “And then, he kissed me on the cheek. And I hoped for more.” 

“Oh.” A single word falls from Luca’s lips. He’s no longer smiling, some of that initial excitement deflating from his form, his posture changing. 

Unconsciously, Valentino’s body mirrors that action as he sinks deeper in the sofa, the back of his head leaning on the headrest. “Oh, indeed. Quite the disappointment.” 

It was. More of disappointment than he’d have expected. And his expectations regarding Marc weren’t high in the first place. 

It’s hard not to notice how Luca bites on his bottom lip, how his forehead acquires new creases. His worry not to say the wrong thing fails to remain hidden, Valentino can see through the act easily. “Then what?” Luca finally dares, the question barely reaching Valentino’s ears.

He smiles crookedly at the memory. “Then I was drowning in self-pity, cursing every mark I ever got.” 

Now it sounds silly, how much the situation affected him. Now that he knows that whatever it is between him and Marc isn’t only one-sided, that he’s not the only one emotionally engaged. 

Luca doesn’t ask him to speak faster, to hurry up and describe what happened next, what caused the change in Valentino’s mood, now definitely not low. At the same time, it’s fairly obvious how much he wants to know, his curiosity manifesting itself in how he’s literally sitting on the edge of his seat and in how his fists are clenched tightly, both right and left one. 

Valentino lets his eyelids fall shut for a few seconds, the urge to scratch his eyes strong after barely getting any sleep during the night. He covers the yawn trying to escape his mouth, picking up where he left off with the story. 

When he gets to the point, the turning point of their whole connection, he’s no longer able to hide how much it affected him. “And we kissed,” Valentino says, his attempt at nonchalance hardly successful. 

And that gets him a reaction. 

“Only kissed?” Luca asks. His shit eating grin takes half of his face, eyes twinkling in the dim light of the room. He’s the epitome of mischief, the raised eyebrow and the barely withheld laugher only adding to the effect. 

Valentino smacks him on the shoulder and pretends to be angry, tries to, at least, but he’s not very convincing in the act. “Yes, only kissed.”

He wouldn’t have ever thought he’d be discussing his sex life with his little brother. Well, he didn’t expect Marc Marquez could ever be a part of his sex life, but by the way the things are looking, it doesn’t seem all that impossible now, and he certainly wouldn’t _mind_ that kind of turn of events. 

He doesn’t get to dwell too much on the topic, though, doesn’t let his imagination run too wild. What breaks him out of this state is a notification, an information that he received a new message. 

Valentino clicks on the small icon, opening it. On the photo, Marc’s lying on the bed, arms crossed under his head and winking. His hair is ruffled, probably purposefully if Valentino had to guess, and the sneak peak of his abdomen, a result of a raised shirt and lowered pants, isn’t an accident, either. The smile spread over his face is lazy, and the sheets beneath him carry multiple folds, just like the pillow his head is resting on. 

The message attached to the picture says _tonight I’m sleeping in this one._

The thing is, the bed Marc’s in, is the one Valentino slept in the night before. 

In the corner of the photo he can see that the other bed is cleanly made up, almost as if it hasn’t been used, no doubt Marc’s mother’s influence. Marc’s teasing him, openly too; once again, Valentino curses his impulsive decision to jump on the first plane, because he can easily imagine himself in that bed with Marc. (They’re both slim, they’d fit.)

_Next time we can share,_ he answers, hoping it isn’t going overboard, not going too far. 

“It’s him, right?”

Valentino looks up from the phone, unfocused. “What?”

“You’re so obvious.” Luca teases him. “Vale and Marc sitting in the tree-” he intones, fully out of tune, his voice cracking at the end with barely contained laughter. 

Pretending to frown, Valentino gives his little brother a warning. “I’m not telling you anything anymore.” 

The threat is obviously a one that won’t come true. Valentino couldn’t stress enough how much having Luca’s support helps, how much it means. And, if he has to be honest, he doubts he’d have given Marc a chance without Luca urging him to do it. 

Luca shrugs, obviously not believing a word of that. “I think I’ll have to give my keys back,” he sates.

Valentino doesn’t get it. “Why? You can keep them.”

“Because,” Luca drags the syllables, elongates the word, “I don’t want to walk in on you and your boyfriend. You know, some things can’t be unseen.”

_You devil._ Luca’s really asking for it, isn’t he? 

“We’re not boyfriends.” The expression on his brother’s face tells Valentino how much he doesn’t believe it. “Really. I’m not sure what we are, to be honest. Aside from the obvious soulmates part.” 

“You haven’t talked about it.” An accusation? A surprise? 

“We didn’t get to.” Those few minutes between the first kiss and him leaving the hotel were barely enough for anything. “I had to go right after that kiss or else I’d have missed the plane.” 

He does agree with Luca, though. They really should talk, agree on what’s going to happen from now on, how they’re going to approach the matter. The name is the least important of the problems at the moment, because who knows how things will evolve in the future. 

“You should.” _We should._ “But anyway, I’m so happy for you.” Valentino suddenly has an armful of his little brother, the hug almost cutting his supply of air with its tightness. “And I told you Marc liked you,” Luca adds cheekily, his suspicions coming true. 

“Fine, you were right.” He’s ready to admit that one. Luca can have his way. “I’m quite happy, too.” 

_Quite happy_ is a huge understatement. 

Luca pulls away, arms falling to his sides. Something passes across his face, not going unnoticed by Valentino, the wide grin diminishing. “There’s one more thing I just remembered,” he says, measuring the words carefully. “Uccio’s been asking about you, where you disappeared. He was rather insistent, too” 

_Shit._ Valentino gulps. That’s something he didn’t expect. 

“Are you going to tell him about Marc?”

Valentino hesitates. He hates lying to Uccio, always has. But at the same time, he cannot imagine anything good coming out of Uccio knowing about him and Marc right now, and that’s more than enough of a reason to keep quiet. “There’s nothing to tell him yet,” he finally says, rubbing the thin skin on his wrist.. 

Luca’s not impressed with his answer at all, the doubtful expression says it all. 

It feels like he’s stuck, like a trap with no way out, his moves blocked by all the comments he’s heard Uccio uttering about Marc, the underlying spite. For a moment, he remains quiet, the words withheld as the possible outcomes are forming in his thoughts, hardly positive. 

“I will, I will. When the time is right,” Valentino adds in the end. He grazes the inside of his cheek with the teeth, lets the tongue swipe over his lips in an action he associates so strongly with Marc. 

_If there ever is such a thing as the right time to tell Uccio._

For now, he buries the thought at the back of his head, too busy with another of Marc’s messages flashing up on the screen. Uccio can wait. Marc’s flirty messages, that’s something he’d rather busy himself with. 

_When the time is right,_ he promises himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd normally post after the race, but considering the fact we might not get a race, I decided to just go with it now so you guys have something to do while waiting. Nothing happening on the track and not much happening here, but oh well...
> 
> I have a few questions, though. I'm not sure if I'm being paranoid or something, but I get a feeling that you like my stories a little less than before? Has the quality decreased? Is there something bothering you? Maybe I'm going through some writing crisis at the moment... I'd love to know your thoughts so I can improve and write better. 
> 
> As always, thank you for reading <3


	17. Chapter 17

_December 2016_

It’s an early morning when the ringing rouses him from sleep, a distant sound at first, getting louder as his consciousness returns, catching up with reality. The first rays of light are only shyly illuminating the room, still mostly covered in the shadows, breaking inside. Valentino reaches out blindly, eyelids still too heavy to open properly, the pillow so soft under his head, and he answers the phone without checking the caller’s ID. 

“Hello?” he says, voice hoarse after not being used for a few hours. 

There’s a bit of a noise on the other end of the line, perhaps something falling to the floor, and he yawns, cursing whoever decided it was an acceptable hour to make a call.

“Did you like the photo?”

Marc doesn’t bother greeting him, just going straight to the point. It wakes Valentino up instantly, taking him by surprise, like Marc has done so many times before, any traces of sleep gone. He can almost hear the grin colouring Marc’s tone, and he can certainly imagine it with ease, the unrestricted want to tease.

_You know full well you don’t have to ask._

He, obviously, did like it. 

The duvet falls from his chest, pooling in his lap as he sits up, propping back against the headboard. The annoyance he felt after having been woken up disappears and it’s difficult to stop the lazy smile from spreading, from taking over his face. From an outside point of view the scene would probably look surreal if someone found out who’s the other part of conversation. A month ago Valentino would have found the vision of the current situation bizarre too, but now that he’s in the middle of it, it only feels good, addictively good.

“You could’ve done better,” he shoots back, responding to Marc’s flirty tone. “Too many clothes still on.”

Those few seconds of waiting he has to endure before hearing Marc’s response are spent on staring outside the window, the view having a calming effect on him. _He’s been flirting with me all the time,_ Valentino repeats in his thoughts, _I’m definitely not going overboard._

Normally, he wouldn’t even have those doubts in the first place since the flirting is blatantly obvious, and it’s not something he’d be shy responding to. Were it any other person, he wouldn’t think for a second about it. But it’s Marc and Valentino catches himself thinking how much he wouldn’t want Marc to react badly and how much it would affect him.

The string of jajajas he gets in return back is almost blissful. “Next time,” Marc promises him, thoroughly amused. 

_I sure hope so._

Stretching his limbs to wake the muscles up, Valentino asks a question, half of the words eaten by the escaping yawn. “Are you back home?”

He guesses Marc should be by now, judging by the bookings, by how much time they were supposed to spend together. Standing up, he pads over to the other end of the room, opening the blinds fully now that his eyes have adjusted to the light. 

Marc hums, confirming his assumption. “Just got back here half an hour ago. Flight got delayed,” he then adds. “Almost four hours.”

“That’s shitty.” He’s always hated those, the time lost on waiting for another announcement almost like waiting for a miracle at times. He can’t help but feel bad for what Marc to go through. 

“Yeah. But I was thinking about you, it made the waiting more bearable.” 

It’s said in such a manner that Valentino can’t decipher whether it’s simply humour there, or whether some honesty might be slipping in. But the tingling that’s settled itself at the bottom of his stomach comes with warmth that perhaps shouldn’t be associated with such a cold day yet, it’s exactly how it’s registered in his mind. 

For a moment the words are stuck in his throat, clogged there, before he finds his voice again. “Should I ask what kind of thoughts those were?” 

He goes for the jokes, for not being serious. Marc’s face has been haunting him ever since he closed the door of that hotel room, and he doesn’t want to find out if that’s something Marc would make fun of. 

Marc’s cheeky response doesn’t help. “Maybe you shouldn’t.” 

By this point, Valentino’s certain this is Marc’s elaborate plan to kill him, that it’s Marc’s goal to be the end of him. He rubs his temples, the amount of thoughts currently galloping through his mind so big it might burst from the pressure. 

Then – “I can’t sleep now, though. And I’m bored,” Marc continues. “Entertain me?” 

_You’re not thinking about..?_

Valentino quickly dismisses that thought. “Entertain yourself, you’re a big boy.” 

“You’re no fun, Vale,” Marc’s complaint sounds through the speaker, but his laughter says otherwise. It isn’t filtered in any way, not one of those diminished, uncertain ones Valentino had heard a few times before they finally shared that kiss. No, this one is pure, and to be on the receiving end of it, that’s one of the things he missed the most during that period of time when they didn’t talk. 

“A shame, I guess?” he kinds of answers, kind of asks. 

_I’ll gladly entertain you when I’m sure that’s what you really want._

Marc isn’t deterred by it in the littlest bit. “But you promised to meet me again this year. How about next week?” Instead, he proposes. “Wednesday? Thursday? Only you and I, a hotel where no one knows us?”

Marc’s voice is almost a purr, slipping into Valentino’s ears easily. It has the desired effect, what Marc surely wanted to imply, and if not for the borders and kilometres separating them, Valentino would’ve made him shut up, preferably with his own lips. 

It’s not going to happen though, not as soon as he’d hope for. 

“I can’t,” he says, pressing the phone to his ear with the shoulder. It almost slips before he presses a hand over it to secure it doesn’t fall. “There’s that Yamaha party then. Celebrating Christmas and welcoming Maverick to the team.”

It surprises even him just how disappointing having to decline Marc’s invitation is. 

And, it seems, it’s like that not only in his case – it’s easy to tell it’s hope Marc’s next question is tinted with. “You can’t cancel it?” 

_I wish._ “Sorry.” If it were a matter of choice, if it were up to him, Valentino wouldn’t hesitate even for a moment, booking flights and hotels instead of polishing the shoes that even fitted properly, still aren’t comfortable for his feet. However, he doesn’t get to have a say in this, so apologizing is all that’s left for him to do. 

They chat for a few more minutes, nothing meaningful, nothing serious, and it’s so strange, _because it’s Marc,_ and he still hasn’t fully got used to the thought that it all actually happened. That the last few days weren’t only conjured up by his brain in response to the loneliness he’s adamant on denying he ever felt. 

“I’ll call you soon,” Marc promises before saying goodbye. 

(Valentino is already looking forward to it.)

After the call is disconnected, he busies himself with a shower, with preparing breakfast. He goes back to the room, rummaging through the wardrobe, trying to pick something that wouldn’t be either too warm or let the cold get to him. 

A few minutes later he hears another beep, muffled, slightly distorted. Picking up the pillow, he tries to find the phone, must’ve left it on the bed after Marc’s call. He finds it buried under the sheets, without any idea of how it might’ve ended there, and then unlocks it after seeing the sender’s name. 

He receives the text first, short and to the point, _“Now better?”_ , before a photo appears a moment later, another notification showing up on the screen.

_You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?_

There Marc, the small bastard, is lying in the sheets again. 

This time there’s not a trace of shirt left on his chest, clearly on display, and the possibility of there not being a hint of other clothes on his body is high, too, if the visible v-lines of his abdomen and the sheets barely covering Marc’s groin are anything to go by. His eyelids are half-closed, and Valentino’s certain that that bedhead was styled, it looks that little bit too perfect. 

And, of course, the half-smirk is purely an act, too. 

Valentino’s eyes fixate themselves on the photo, noting all the details and stocking them up in his memory. He has only himself to _blame_ for this, and he’ll gladly take it, even if it might bite him in the ass one day. 

_“Better. Keep it up,”_ he texts back, not sure if he’s only waiting for more _(certainly)_ or dreading what Marc might come up with next _(and finally kill him for good)._

*

It’s been almost three hours since he arrived at the restaurant, one of around a hundred people here. He can’t count how many people approached him and chatted with him as if they had been friends for who knows how many years, and he smiled at them, trying to associate a name to the face, half of the time unsuccessfully. He knows his crew and those who belong to Jorge’s (Maverick’s, he quickly corrects himself) side of garage, some of the bosses too, but the rest are just strangers, one of the thousands he sees every two weeks. 

Nodding to whatever his current companion is saying (Steve? Or maybe it was Stan?), the words reaching his ears but not the brain, Valentino counts how many minutes are left before he can vanish into thin air without being questioned about it later. Around an hour, he thinks. The people should be either too drunk to care at that point, or they’d have already left the place themselves. 

The vibrations is his pocket are a perfect excuse, so he dons an apologetic expression, only half trying, and then he leaves Stephan at the table on his own. 

The message is nothing but alarming, though, his mind suddenly flooded with all kinds of scenarios, not one of them good. 

_“Call me!”_

He sneaks out to the restroom, hoping everyone’s had enough drinks not to notice his presence vanishing from the crowd. He squats and looks at the space between the toilet stalls and the floor, checking for shoes, for anyone who could be there to listen to call he’s intending to make, before deeming the place safe. 

There are some crackles on the line, and he wonders who thought it was a good idea to build the restrooms in the basement. Then again, they most likely were not meant for making phone calls, that much is obvious, but he can’t think of a better place at the moment. 

It takes a bit of time before Marc’s voice reaches him clearly. “Hi.” 

“What happened? I don’t have much time.” His absence will be noticed soon, without a doubt. “I’m at that party currently.”

He didn’t even realize how tense his muscles were, the tendons stretched to the limits, heart adopting a faster than usual pace. If so little, just a text, gets him in that kind of state, then maybe Valentino should start worrying, because it can’t be healthy for him. And he was aware that he cared, he wasn’t that out of tune with his emotions, but the size of his concern is something he perhaps did underestimate. 

“I know,” Marc responds. It doesn’t sound apologetic at all, doesn’t bear even a hint of being sorry. “I couldn’t resist calling you. Sorry.”

_You’re obviously not._

Valentino presses the phone closer to his ear, the speaker plastered to his body. “One more hour and I’ll be free to leave.”

If it were up to him, he’d have done so long ago. There are other things he’d rather be doing, multiple of them actually; he could name those easily. Besides, the tie seems too tight around his neck, even after he pulled on it to loosen the hold, and the suit feels too stiff, limiting his movements just like the Yamaha obligations do to his freedom at the moment.

“I couldn’t ride today,” Marc shares, without any relation to the previous topic. 

Valentino understands, he hasn’t been able to hop on the bike either, an occurrence so rare it’s almost unsettling, and he guesses it’s like that for Marc, too. If not worse. It’s hard to tell which one of them has more love for the machines. 

He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, pulling on the skin of his cheek lightly. He doesn’t remember having that wrinkle near the right corner of his lips before. “Me neither.” A shame, really.

There’s a brief pause, a moment of hesitation on Marc’s side before the next sentence is out. “We should ride together some time.” 

Obviously, he knows what Marc meant, what intention was hidden there, in the supposedly innocent question. The visions of the two of them on the Ranch flood him instantly, the memories of that day back in 2014 when, after accepting his invitation, Marc appeared on the track. And it’s something he can only admit to himself, but he’s never had that much fun with any of the Academy boys or any other guests. Not one of them like Marc. 

“I’m not sure if you’ve noticed,” he says, trying not the let out how much the topic affects him, “But we ride together nine months out of twelve every year.”

It’s joking, light words as an answer to the heavy topic. But at the moment, he cannot imagine it in any way. With so many people around, with so many strangers looking over the fence of the track multiple hours a day, with Uccio around, Valentino has no idea how it could work. 

“Yeah, right.”

Marc’s laugh is as sincere as was his own, which is not much at all. 

“But,” quickly, Valentino corrects himself, “we could maybe do that in the future.” _Maybe. If I figure something out._

The disappointment is there, his, Marc’s, and the will to make it work is there too, along with determination. Now, he only has to find the way. 

His mind is working at the highest pace, searching, looking for something more he could tell Marc to disperse the fog hovering above the cheerful atmosphere, covering it. It consumes all of his attention, so it’s no surprise the creak of the door startles him, forcing his body to turn so fast his heads spins slightly from the sudden movement. He takes in the presence in front of him, eyes full of confusion staring back at him, while he’s frozen in the spot, waiting. 

“Vale?” His name leaves that mouth quietly, the surprise not concealed. 

Shit. He complete forgot someone could walk in here any moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To make up for last week (and before they can create more drama...) I'm leaving you with this. I think in the last chapter I forgot to state that we're still in 2016, I feel like it's a very necessary reminder these days :P
> 
> The comments are always welcome and very loved <3 But if you want to talk in private or just yell at me to hurry up and write faster, I made a blog. I probably won't be very active there, but I'll make sure to repsond to every message, so feel free to find me at 4693words.tumblr.com
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	18. Chapter 18

_December 2016_

His heart stops in his throat, all the blood rushing his face to form pinkish patches on his cheeks. In a moment of panic, Valentino looks right, then left, as if there was an escape somewhere there, waiting for him to flee from the scene. For nothing, as the only door is on the other side of the room, right behind Maverick’s back. 

Valentino presses his hand to the speaker quickly, muffling it so that Maverick won’t be able to recognize who’s on the other end of the line. Marc’s voice is no longer audible, thankfully, but he isn’t able to breathe a sight of relief, not yet. It’s too early for that. 

Gulping, he glances upwards, not sure what to be prepared for. 

His teammate blinks slowly, the wide open eyes adding a sense of innocence to the questioning expression. Maverick is standing by the door, not coming closer, a hand still on the doorknob, ready to turn it any moment. As if expecting an unpleasant reaction. 

Valentino’s fingers catch on his earring in an involuntary motion, a habitual gesture. “Hi,” he greets Maverick and then curses himself for how unnatural and awkward it sounds. 

They’re standing in the middle of a restroom, in front of each other, and he feels as if he got caught on doing something prohibited by his mother, awaiting the lecture, not walked in on by his much younger teammate. And that’s something he hasn’t experienced in years, not something he wanted a repeat of. 

_Great. Awesome. Just what I needed._

Maverick’s only got in the team, he won’t do anything, Valentino hopes, trying to calm his racing pulse with rational explanations. Maverick wouldn’t do that, would he? Then again, he knows pretty much nothing about the guy, what he’s like, what’s he’s capable of, so it’s difficult to keep his teeth from pushing into his bottom lips hard enough for the skin to break.

Maverick gives him an unsure smile and glances towards the door, as if looking for escape. “I can find another toilet if you’re busy.”

The situation is no less uncomfortable for him, it seems.

“No, no.” Quickly, Valentino protests. That would be even worse. The situation is awkward enough, and he wouldn’t want the news of Maverick leaving the bathroom so that he could continue with the call to spread. The rumours, he can already imagine those. “Do whatever you need, I’ll go.”

On his way out, he gives Maverick a meek smile, one that is all pretending and barely any honesty.  
He needs to get out, some fresh air to breathe because his brain must’ve short-circuited, brain cells steaming. 

_So close to getting caught._

Strolling past the other guests, he can’t stop berating himself for being so stupid, for letting that situation to happen. He should’ve excused himself the moment he found out it wasn’t anything serious, that Marc wasn’t in any dire situation that would require an immediate action. Or, his idiotic self should’ve been careful enough not to let the guard down and observe the door opening, react in time, let his reflexes kick in before it was too late. 

Before it got to the point where he’s worried Maverick might’ve heard one word too many. 

Slipping past the security is easy enough as they don’t give him much attention, something Valentino’s eternally grateful for. Outside, the wind is slipping through the material of his suit easily, breaking the thin barrier between his skin and the outside world. His coat is hanging somewhere in the cloakroom, along with _that_ scarf, the one Marc wrapped around his neck as a goodbye, and the temptation to wear it today was too strong to resist. 

There is a plus to the biting cold, though, if a sickness doesn’t attack his body, of course. It helps in cooling his cheeks and calming his mind, the feverish worries he could’ve easily avoided. 

(But he couldn’t be careful for once, as if taking all those risks during the races wasn’t enough.) 

Trying not to appear even more suspicious, Valentino hides himself at the back of the building, away from the prying eyes. _Won’t find me here, will they?_ He hopes they, the team or the stuff, won’t, too occupied with their own affairs. 

When, half a minute later, he reaches in the pocket and grabs the phone, there are five texts waiting for him, all sent from Marc’s number. 

“Sorry I hung up on you like that,” he apologizes to Marc, voice no more than a whisper. His pulse has already slowed down, but the tension is still present in his muscles, movements carrying a kind of stiffness that normally isn’t there. 

The response he gets is hinted with concern, audible despite the low quality of the connection. “What happened? Are you okay?” The playful tone is gone from Marc’s words, replaced with preoccupation, underlying worry.

Against all reason, it fills Valentino with something warm, the coldness of the air suddenly less severe, less unpleasant. His knuckles wrap tighter around the device, holding it stronger to have that voice a little closer. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” The fact that Marc would actually worry about him is still something hard to believe in. “Maverick walked in, I didn’t want him to hear us talk.” 

The sigh from Marc’s side cannot be mistaken for anything but relief.

“Oh, okay. Good it’s just that,” Marc huffs, producing a swish. 

_Just that? Just?_ Valentino doesn’t get it, how can it be _just that_ for Marc, how it doesn’t bother him more than it does, enough to give such a comment, but not give it more thought. It’s beyond him, that lack of care when the consequences could’ve been disastrous, both their reputations at stake. 

“We need to be more careful,” he says, eyes wandering around, scanning the environment carefully. Thankfully, no one in sight, but they _(he)_ have to be more attentive, more aware of the surroundings, not letting their guard down due to being on cloud nine.

(He doesn’t know if that’s the state Marc’s in, but he himself is pretty close to it.)

“Nothing happened.” Valentino doesn’t have to see it to know that Marc just shrugged, not caring. “No need to worry about it.”

The wind is picking up, yanking at his suit jacket like it’s doing to the branches swaying over his head, and he tries to curl into himself to preserve the warmth. “This time nothing happened.” _And I apparently have more luck than brains._ “Thankfully. But next time something could.” 

Why Marc is treating the matter so lightly, he doesn’t understand. Sure, nothing happened, but Valentino would absolutely _despise it_ if anything happened, if something went wrong for him once again, like it always does. And he’s not willing to risk it, to get burned again, because the wounds may heal, but the scars remain, and he doesn’t have the strength to deal with any new ones. 

“Okay, fine. We should be more careful,” Marc sighs, obviously not happy with what he heard. “Can we change the topic, please? I want to talk about something happier?”

Happier. Right. That one worse moment was enough for him to temporarily forget about happier things, and there’s so many of them he started associating with Marc, that he really shouldn’t focus on what ifs that could’ve been but weren’t. Best to let go of those matters for now.

Crouching down, back propped against a wall, he shares what he’s been thinking about for most of the day. “I have a few days off after Christmas. Free of any commitments.”

He especially made sure there was nothing in his schedule, denying multiple request, much to giggling Luca’s amusement. _No, I’m already busy_ repeated a hundred times. But the promise was made to Marc and it’s not like it’s a particularly troublesome one to fulfil. 

There’s no need to state it directly what he meant as Marc gets the hint with ease. “Now, that’s what I wanted to hear. Your choice or mine again?” 

There’s that purr again, the one Valentino’s already memorized, keeping stored in mind and remembering it by heart. “Let me surprise you?” He not really states, not really asks, just leaving the sentence hanging in the air to be responded to. 

“Great!” Now that gets him a good reaction, Marc’s enthusiasm not hindered in any way. _So I’m not the only one feeling this way. _“Do I need to wear something fancy? One of those end of season gala suits or something?”__

The chatter, sentence fired after sentence rapidly shows how Marc’s excitement is almost oozing out of him. And Valentino hardly remembers the last time when someone who wasn’t a fan was this eager to meet him, this _happy, _and he needs to cover his mouth for a second out of giddiness.__

____

He cannot hold the laughter in as it spills, rumbling in his chest. “No need to. But you look really nice in those.”

__

_You look nice in everything, actually._ There’s not a bit of exaggeration in the statement, even the most hideous clothes couldn’t distort the handsomeness that is so natural, so effortless to Marc. He can picture how the suit hugs Marc’s body in all the right places, flattering him even though it isn’t something Marc really needs. 

__

And he cannot wait, those last few days before they’ll get to see each other again he knows will be difficult to endure, hard to focus on anything else. 

__

“And here I thought you liked me better without clothes,” Marc teases on the other end of the line. 

__

The photos from earlier come back to Valentino immediately. He was right that that comment will bite him one day, but he didn’t expect it to happen so soon, for Marc to use it against him like that. And it is successful, his focus dispersing and distraction slipping in in exchange, imagination running wild again. 

__

“Next time we see each other,” he warns, “I’ll be sure to test that statement.” _Gladly._

__

“I sure hope so.” 

__

_I sure hope so, too._

__

But that hope will have to wait for a bit more, as the hands of his watch show how a new day has begun. “I need to go back now.” He must’ve been gone for a while now, and he can count on being scolded about not being at the party neither mentally nor physically, just a shadow flickering here and there. “Can’t get caught again.”

“Mhm,” Marc murmurs, before the line goes silent.

*

He catches the sight of Maverick’s back by the table stuffed with appetizers, making his way over there, trying to bump into as little shoulders as possible. It’s not likely that Maverick has anything figured out, but he needs to take care of the matter, make sure that one careless mistake won’t lead to disastrous consequences.

“How’s the party?” he asks, taking one of the glasses and letting the taste of wine spread on his tongue.

Eyes widening, Maverick scans his face, looking for something, but Valentino can’t guess what. “It’s fine. I don’t know too many people here, though.” His sight darts around the room, skipping from one person to another, confirming the words.

Valentino barely hears it over the music, the timidity that seems to be an integral part of Maverick also showing up in the volume of his voice. Instinctively, his arms wounds around Maverick’s shoulder, an attempt to bring some comfort, ease the nerves a bit. _(Whether Maverick’s or his own, that’s up for a debate.)._ “Want to get out of here for a moment?

He surprises even himself with that proposition, as he hasn’t thought it through. But, he thinks, it could be good. To have a connection, to build a relationship with his teammate that isn’t full of snarky words and oozing sarcasm, like what he had with Jorge, he reminiscences with bitter fondness.

Pushing a grape into his mouth, Valentino waits for the response, carefully noting the reaction.

“Okay?” Not fully an answer, not a question. “Is everything good for you, though? You seemed preoccupied earlier, I don’t want to be a bother,” Maverick says, eyes fixated on the table. 

_Did you have to bring it up?_

It’s exactly what Valentino wanted to avoid, let the topic or maybe even the whole encounter die, a memory not worth remembering and definitely not worth mentioning.

“Sure,” he lies easily, forcing his face to keep the neutral expression. “Just Uccio calling, asking about something to do with the Academy boys.” 

Receiving a call in the middle of the party that could’ve definitely been made during the day hours doesn’t sound very believable to his ears, but Maverick doesn’t question it, thankfully. Probably wouldn’t dare. 

“Okay then.”

Outside, where, aside from a person or two going back home, there isn’t anyone but them in the nearest vicinity, the atmosphere changes, too.

Maverick’s shoulders lose some of their former tension, face changing from an indifferent mask to a tiny smile playing around his lips. _He’s such a kid._ It strikes Valentino suddenly just how young the guy (boy?) standing in front of him is. There are no lines on his face yet, pristine, not yet marred, unlike his own. And there’s also this sense of innocence to him Valentino used to possess in the past, that is long gone now. 

And, it hits him in the next moment, how small the age gap between his new teammate and Marc is.

Squatting, he ties the loose shoelace, not wanting to land on his face and lose a tooth or two of them. He’s never given it much thought, how young Marc is, the difference in the years they’ve lived somewhere in the back of his mind, but never his main concern. There was no need for it to be his concern, not until he found out they were bound by more than just sharing the tracks, at least. It didn’t cross his mind when he agreed to that meeting in the hotel and certainly not when Marc’s lips were moving against his, all the thoughts and concerns leaving to make place for the bliss spreading all over his body.

Now that Marc’s presence isn’t affecting him directly, the doubts start to get their own voice, his effort to stop them mostly in vain.

_Are you sure what you’re doing? Or are you just playing around?_

“I hope we’ll get along fine.” Maverick’s earnest statement breaks his train of thoughts, stopping it before it escalates. “I’m sure I can learn a lot from you.”

Valentino has heard something familiar before, the quote not exact but similar enough. 

“I hope so, too,” he says, looking at Maverick but seeing an image of Marc is his head, glimmering eyes and glossy lips, staring at him in a way that evokes goosebumps even as a memory. 

_Please, be serious about me. I couldn’t handle being played ever again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for spamming you with my stories so often, but this fic turns one year old tomorrow (already, damn, and we're still nowhere near the end haha) and it felt like a good occasion for a new chapter. Hopefully you're not tired of me yet?
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	19. Chapter 19

_December 2016_

The wine has been cooling in the fridge for a while now, and he’s checked everything at least three times, so that nothing is out of place when Marc arrives.

Valentino stands up, walks from the room to the adjoined kitchen, then sits back again, the stool somehow less comfortable than it was just an hour ago. Only his imagination, he knows, but it prompts him to make another round around the rented apartment to give him something to do, because there’s still at least half an hour left. 

They haven’t seen each other in a few weeks, but even those last minutes before they’re finally reunited feel like forever.

He’s never been the one to sit still, always wriggling, moving around, but today the case is even more prominent. The apartment is in no way small, but he must’ve already covered every inch of space, feet carrying him on their own. The crack on the wall near the main door is already familiar, just like the patterns of the kitchen tiles. It doesn’t stop him from making the same route one more time, only coming to a halt next to the entrance to the bedroom.

The door is partially open, enough to get a glimpse at what’s stacked inside, and Valentino’s not doing it intentionally, but his eyes wander to the bed automatically. The large, double bed, big enough to fit them both, with pristine sheets. _Still pristine._ By the end of the day, he hopes, they won’t be anymore, tangled and crumpled instead, carrying the same scent as that scarf Marc gave him _(his favourite now)_ does. 

But before it can even get to that point, he has to waste all that time until Marc’s arrival. And he might be slowly going crazy, his impatience worse than ever. 

There’s also the gift.

He knows well enough how difficult it is to give something to someone who can have pretty much everything on a whim. Been there, done that, nothing new to him. But it’s exactly why he’s been fretting so much over the box still hidden in his suitcase, poorly wrapped in some glossy paper with reindeers printed all over it. 

The time he spent on choosing the content, that’s something he doesn’t even want to count. 

Usually, it’s easy. He gives Luca something related to the bikes and a promise of being careful to his mother. He knows Uccio almost as well as he knows himself, so it’s not a problem, either.

Marc, though. Marc isn’t easy.

Just to be sure, he walks over to where his suitcase is, checking the box once more. It’s not like he counted on it magically evaporating, vanishing into thin air, but well. Lately, rational thinking hasn’t been his strongest forte. 

Finally, he settles on the sofa, browsing through the TV channels mindlessly, none of them in Italian or even English. He pauses on some skiing competition since at least that’s something he can understand without knowing the language. And wow, that crash didn’t look good at all. 

It’s not a knock that breaks him out from this state but rather a text.

Valentino jumps to his feet, throwing the remote without looking where, and pushes the door handle forcefully. His hand slides on it, falling to his side as the corridor lights break into the room, also creating shadows on Marc’s face. 

Not a second after the door shuts, he has arms wrapped around his neck, lips searching his, Marc pressed against him with all of his body.

_I missed you,_ Valentino thinks, but doesn’t dare saying it. 

He kisses back, pouring his soul into it, just like Marc is. Not holding back in any way. _Like you don’t with anything in life._ It’s less gentle than that first one, more teeth this time, and it’s pretty obvious Marc does know what he’s doing. 

He pulls away when Marc does, the small sigh a sign of disappointment. Too short. The kiss could’ve been longer. But, he hopes, there are many more to come, for them to share. 

Marc pulls on the sleeves of his jacket, undressing. “Did you have to wait long for me?” 

The shirt he’s wearing is a pretty tight fight, dark and very flattering, but then again, what isn’t flattering on Marc. He’s dressed up, Valentino can tell, and it’s difficult to stop the joy the awareness that Marc _would_ dress up for him brings. 

“No, not really,” Valentino says. _But it felt like forever._ “I’ll hang it for you.” He then points to the fabric rolled in Marc’s hands. He gives Marc another kiss and breaks away when Marc’s fingertips brush against his neck, icy touch on his flesh. “Wear some gloves, brrrr.” 

“Nope,” Marc denies the request, “I can warm myself in a different way.”

And he goes with the statement, hands sliding under the edge of Valentino’s shirt, resting them on the bones protruding from Valentino’s hips.

It’s definitely not accidental, Valentino’s certain, that Marc’s thumb is following the lines marking their connection, the symbol of what got them where they currently are. The spark goes through all of his nerve-endings, making him feel light-headed, the tingling much stronger than before. The type that could only be compared to that first night, after they were devastated to find out what the marks meant.

_Look how far we’ve gone,_ Valentino muses, their mouths connected again. He’s getting addicted to this, kissing Marc, and rather quickly too. 

He takes Marc’s jacket and also the beanie, putting them away while listening to the story of how Marc’s trip went. _Good, kinda boring, but at least no delays this time,_ he registers the words as he shows Marc around, each part of the apartment.

Marc, of course, doesn’t fail to nice the bed.

Hopping on it, he spreads all of his limbs around, sinking into the soft mattress. “This is nice,” he comments as he squeezes one of the pillows in his hands. 

Valentino lingers in the doorway, hesitant. Should he go there? Lay next to Marc, lay _with_ Marc, the two of them, one bed, his imagination already starting to get active, visions already beginning to form– 

Marc gives the answers to his questions, getting up and coming over to where Valentino stands. “Need to make use of this later, right?” He nods towards the bed, his fingertips brushing over the sensitive skin of Valentino’s neck, breath tickling Valentino’s cheek.

Immediately after that, he goes out of the bedroom, and Valentino needs a few seconds to get his mind on the right track, out of the gutter where it’s been for the last few minutes. 

*

They’re sitting in the kitchen, definitely closer than the wooden table requires them to, arms connected, knees hitting lightly. Marc’s hand snakes to catch Valentino’s, lacing their fingers together. When Valentino glances first at the hold, then at Marc face, he receives a wink and a peck to his cheek (that might be feeling a bit warmer than it usually does). 

“So, how was Christmas?” Valentino asks cautiously. Coming closer to the topic, the gift for Marc at the back of his mind.

Marc’s eyes light up. “Great. Mom was her usual self, made enough food to feed the whole paddock. I think I might’ve gained two kilos, I haven’t eaten that much in months.” He pats his stomach a few times, as if to prove the point. 

Valentino doesn’t see it, to him it seems just as flat as the last time he saw Marc. He stops himself from reaching out and checking it himself. Barely. 

“Maybe you’ll be slower and we’ll finally get a chance to catch you,” he jokes, instead. _As if._ Firstly, he’d have to lose some weight himself before counting on Marc suddenly losing some of his speed. 

Marc kicks him under the table lightly, a foot hitting Valentino’s shin, before moving a bit. “It’s because you’re old that you can’t catch me.” 

_So that’s what you think of me? Old?_

Not something Valentino expected to hear. In retrospect, he probably should’ve, but those years separating them never seemed to bother Marc, so they shouldn’t be a problem now. Right?

_Right?_

He doesn’t get to dwell on it for long, as Marc snuggles up to his side, legs now thrown over Valentino’s lap. Grinning, he wriggles his toes and tilts his head. “And how was your Christmas?”

“Fine.” _Kind of lonely. Kind of wished you had been there with me._ “But at least I have some self-control,” Valentino takes a jab at Marc’s former words. Involuntarily, he looks down, to his own stomach, judging it. 

A moment later, he throws Marc’s legs off his lap and stands up. “Wait a moment.” 

The suitcase is left open after he finds what he was looking for, taking it out. The box feels heavy in his hands, even though its content doesn’t weight much. The meaning of the gift adds quite a few imaginary grams, he thinks. He stalls for a moment, taking longer than it is necessary to return, to go back to where Marc is waiting for him. And it’s hard to deny that the nervousness is there, the stress about what Marc might think. 

He wonders if it isn’t too much. They haven’t touched the topic of the gifts and it’s not like he’s expecting to get one from Marc. It’s just…hopefully not going overboard, in his case. 

Finally, he forces his feet to move, ungluing them from the ground. “I have something for you,” Valentino says, approaching Marc slowly. He toys with the box, turning it in his hands, right, then left, before finally extending it towards Marc. “Here.” 

Marc takes it immediately, tearing the paper and letting the shreds fall to the floor. “If you wanted to give me a ring, shouldn’t you be on your knees?” He teases when it’s clear what was hidden behind the colourful layers, the shape known, but the content of the box not. 

“Too old for that, my knees won’t stand that,” the reply comes, and Valentino kind of hopes Marc will deny the being old thing, he could use that little reassurance, but Marc’s too engrossed in the gift, focused entirely on it. 

He opens the box while Valentino watches on, gauging the reaction, unconsciously pulling on his earring and wiping a hand on his jeans. _I really hope you’ll like it. It took quite a lot of effort._

Valentino really hopes Marc will. 

Maybe he should’ve sat down, instead of standing, because now he can only see the top of Marc’s head and not really his face. And normally he loves it, how Marc has to look up at him and it doesn’t bother him in the slightest that either he has to lean down or Marc has to crane his neck for them to kiss. But right now, Valentino wishes he could see Marc’s expression properly.

“You’re not asking me to move in with you, are you?” Marc laughs, eyeing the keys, but the pitch sounds all wrong to Valentino’s ears. 

_Move in..?_

Shit. Now that he thinks about, it might look like he’s giving Marc the keys to a house, or some sort of apartment, so Marc’s conclusion isn’t that far-fetched. But that’s a thought that has never struck him, especially since they’re only at the beginning of their _relationship_ (Are they in one? It seems so, but neither of them confirmed it officially, nor spoken about the possibility. So Valentino doesn’t know. He wants to, but he can’t be sure.). 

“No, no,” Valentino protests, waving hands around frantically. _You don’t need to worry._ “Those are keys to a track I rented.”

“A track? You mean..?”

Marc eyes are positively _shining_ right now. 

“It’s not a regular track,” he explains, not wanting to get Marc’s expectations up too high. Nothing like what they normally ride on. “But I thought it might be fun,” Valentino ends lamely, arms falling to his side as he awaits Marc’s verdict, how Marc feels about the idea.

Marc said he wanted to ride together before, he wouldn’t back out right now, would he? 

His heart starts thudding violently when Marc leaves the kitchen without saying anything, leaving Valentino with no words and no hope. It doesn’t make any sense. He couldn’t have fucked up so badly, could he? Quickly, he follows Marc’s path to try to do something, salvage what is there to rescue, unable to hold in the gasp when he sees Marc pulling the jacket on. 

Marc stops in the middle of zapping his jacket up, one hand on the metal zip, the other buried in the pocket. “We’re going or not?” 

The keys fall from Valentino’s hold, clanging after landing on the floor, and he picks them up hurriedly, dangling them on his index finger. 

_Going? Jesus. Do you have to scare like that?_

“Yeah. Yes, we’re going.” It takes a moment before Valentino wakes up from his dumbfounded state, before what he’s seeing and hearing starts making sense. “I didn’t think you’d want to go immediately.”

Marc tilts his head and gives him a look that couldn’t mean anything but disbelief.

“Okay, that was stupid,” Valentino admits, because indeed, he should’ve known better. If anyone would want to go ride anytime or anywhere, it’s Marc. 

A few minutes later, Valentino finishes lacing his sneakers, pulling the hood over his head. Marc’s already waiting by the door, skipping from one foot to the other, and it’s almost as if he’s on the verge of telling Valentino to hurry up, move faster. 

“I’ve ordered a taxi, but I think it’s best we go separately,” Valentino mentions, standing up. _Too much risk travelling together._ “Go there,” he hands Marc a card with an address scribbled on it messily, “And wait for me, okay?” 

“How can I know you’re not going to sell me to some crazy fans, waiting there?” Marc asks, pointing to the name of the street. His serious act lasts about five seconds before he can no longer maintain it, full smile spreading on his lips. 

“Trying to get rid of the competition for the next season, but shhh, don’t tell anyone,” Valentino whispers conspiraciously, pressing an index finger to his mouth. 

_Getting rid of you is the last thing I’d want, you know? I’m sure you have no idea,_ he thinks, watching as Marc opens the door and stops with one foot still in the apartment and the other already outside. 

Marc nods, winking at him. “Your secret is safe with me.” 

*

The gate opens with a crack, giving way under Valentino’s push. He goes in first, Marc trailing behind him, and stops beside the map of the track, studying it. There isn’t anyone beside them here, won’t be at least until tomorrow, but he can’t help feeling slightly anxious, if for an entirely different reason. 

His eyes roam over the track layout, even though he already knows it by heart. “Well, it’s not a proper track.” Too small, it’s evident after a first glance. “But you said you wanted to ride with me, so....,” Valentino trails off, leaving the end of the sentence hanging. 

Now that they’re finally here, it doesn’t seem like such a good idea anymore. Too silly. Renting a tiny track, as if they didn’t have the access to regular, proper motorcycle tracks on a daily basis. 

Marc’s next to him immediately, finger following the curves of the track, surely trying to figure out the best line. “I don’t have the leathers or a helmet, though?” He frowns, glancing at his clothes. It’s not like they could go anywhere near the GP speeds here, not even close, but the risk is always there and Valentino fully gets it why Marc would be worried. 

_You think I’d forget about it?_

“Come with me,” he says, leading the way. He glances back to check if Marc’s following, and then walks through another door. 

In the adjoined room, he opens the wardrobe, looking through the various rakes. “I’m not sure if they’ll fit you since I had to guess the size.” He picks up the black leathers, spreading it for Marc to see. “Here.”

At first, he considered ordering at least five different sizes, if only to be sure. He’d never admit checking the sizes of the leathers the Academy boys wear and he really, really hopes they haven’t noticed anything. He’d die from shame if they did. But the height difference proved to be a bit of a problem, so it’s not like either he or Luca could be a model for Marc’s leathers. Helmets, he brought in three different sizes.

Now, he only hopes all that trouble won’t go to waste. 

Marc takes the suit from him, examining it. He pulls on one of the sleeves, unzipping it, and then casually starts shedding his clothes, before Valentino can get a word out, direct him to the changing room or something. The shoes are gone, along with the jacket and the shirt, and now Marc’s fingers are on the button of his pants, letting the fabric part. 

Valentino _tries_ not to stare. Fails, mostly. And the show Marc’s putting on, stretching the muscles, pulling the leatherson slower than necessary, makes him give in, not pretend anymore. He doesn’t hide his ogling any longer, and Marc, judging by the grin, doesn’t mind. 

“Now you.” Marc throws the gloves at Valentino. “Go undress.” He sits on the nearby chair, crossing legs at the knees. Waiting.

_Now me?_

*

Half of the day passes quickly, those hours feeling much faster than they should, their rivalry almost as intense as the one happening during the regular races.

Marc falls through the apartment door maybe five minutes after him, directing the steps to the bathroom immediately. 

Good, Valentino thinks. A few minutes for himself, to calm down, to let the adrenaline levels lower a bit. Let it all sink in, how much he enjoyed simply spending time with Marc, how different it was to their first date. 

_The most fun I’ve had in a while._

The Academy boys, no matter how much he cares about each of them, can’t compare to Marc. At times, Valentino suspects, they hold back a bit, not wanting to pull certain moves on him, more careful. While Marc, Marc goes all out, not caring about all the experience Valentino has or the wins connected with his name. And Valentino realizes just how much he loves it, acting normal, not being treated in a special way. 

He goes over the whole day in his head, remembering the lines, the moves, how Marc rode and how it differed from what he himself did. But more than anything, he focuses not on the bikes, but on Marc. On Marc’s reactions whenever they had a little break, the little victory dances and that pout whenever a race didn’t end in his favour.

_Goodness, that pout._

Valentino was almost ready to lose the next race on purpose. Almost.

He gets lost in his thoughts, absentmindedly skimming over one of the magazines left for them by the hotel stuff. He isn’t focused, he hardly ever is with Marc around lately, so the lock opening startles him, surprising. 

A moment later, Marc appears in the bathroom door. “Vale?”

Valentino turns towards him and he wishes he’d done so slower, because now he isn’t sure if the light-headedness is a result of the motion, or the fact that Marc’s completely _bare._

“Yeah?” He answers, lamely. His mind is working at the highest pace, no longer imagining _how_ Marc would look, but rather what he could do _with Marc._ And he can’t deny the interest, not with the way Marc’s leaning on the doorframe with the left shoulder pressed against it, head tilted, no sign of shyness detectable. 

“I thought that standing here naked was explicit enough.” Marc smirks. And that smirk is doing _things_ to Valentino. He nods towards the shower, where the water is still running, steaming the bathroom up. “But I guess I need to invite you personally. Join me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's me again. I'm afraid I'm starting to become the most active writer in this fandom?
> 
> After weeks of Marc sending him teasing pictures, Vale finally gets to see everything with his own eyes. Will they have fun? Or will one of them slip on a bar of soap instead? I haven't decided yet haha. Stay tuned and thank you for reading <3


	20. Chapter 20

Valentino doesn’t need to be told twice.

He steps towards the bathroom, not trusting his legs fully. His eyes roam over Marc’s silhouette, starting with the eyes, the cheekbones, sliding down the collarbones, chest and lower. Marc moves a bit, legs a bit further apart, hips pushed forward that tiny bit, and Valentino gulps, enchanted, enticed, thoroughly mesmerised by each of Marc’s gestures. 

The air leaves him swiftly when Marc walks into the bathroom, turning around in the process. Valentino’s sight zeroes on one point, first travelling down Marc’s back and then setting itself where his own name is printed on Marc’s skin. It’s the first time in half a year that Valentino gets to see it, that the mark is available to his eyes. Unconsciously, he focuses on its colour, comparing it to the shade on his hip, finding them to be the same, equal in depth. 

And the relief that image brings is something he couldn’t deny. 

The last few steps separating him from Marc are something Valentino covers in a record time, legs moving on their own. He catches Marc by the chin and forgets about gentle, forgets about sweet. Their teeth clash lightly when he kisses Marc, lips parting, meshing, Marc’s mouth falling open and letting Valentino’s tongue in. The hands wounding themselves behind his neck only add to the sensations, Marc’s touch burning every inch of Valentino’s skin it can reach. 

The clothes feel too tight, constricting him, and he needs to get rid of the feeling, soon, if possible. It’ll get unbearable real quick, it’s already getting there, and he has to do something asap. 

Impatiently, Valentino’s hands reach for the hem of his shirt, but Marc stops him and swats them away. “Let me,” Marc says, no more explanation following.

Valentino eyes the fingers wrapped around his collar. “Fine.” 

His arms fall to his sides, limp, as he waits for Marc to make a move. His impatience might start showing if Marc doesn’t do anything soon, as he’s too hot, it’s too hot in the bathroom, and Valentino’s not convinced it’s only because of the water running in the shower. The steam might be clouding his vision, and lust might be clouding his thinking, but there’s more to it than that, definitely. 

His wishes finally come true when Marc grasps the edge of his shirt, pulling it upwards. Valentino allows Marc to take it off, accommodating as much as he can, but he’s certain Marc’s doing it on purpose, scratching the date on his hip, Marc’s nails short and blunt but the shivers they evoke anything but light. 

When Valentino’s torso is exposed, he resumes the kiss, even more fierce this time. At first, he’s careful with where his hands are on Marc. Nape of the neck, down the line of Marc’s spine, before finally gripping the hips, the hold on them tightening when Marc slips fingers behind Valentino’s pants and underwear. Only a little, but enough. 

Their fingers tangle when they’re both trying to unbutton the fabric, get it down Valentino’s legs and away. They’re mostly interrupting each other, doing more bad than good, so Valentino backs away, letting Marc do as he pleases. 

He’s left standing motionless as Marc opens the buckle of his belt, pulls the fly in his pants down. And he’s sure Marc doesn’t miss just how his boxers are strained, the fabric tented, his cock already half-hard. It’s not easy to overlook, and maybe Valentino would have the decency to get shy, if he hadn’t seen how aroused Marc is. 

Soon, all of his clothes are gone, and Marc’s hand is on his chest, palm pressed flatly against it. Valentino’s sure Marc can feel it, the erratic heartbeat, how his heart rattles against his ribcage, and there’s no way he could hide the flush on his face. It’s on his cheeks and also neck, spreading down to his chest, too. 

Neither of them remembers to close the door, entirely focused on each other, entirely focused on feeling, thinking long forgotten. The urgency, the hurry they’re in, almost makes Valentino slip, feet sliding on the wet ground as they make it into the shower. Marc catches him right in time, and Valentino’s more than thankful, as he wouldn’t have had a good excuse to explain the potential injury it could’ve caused. 

Inside, Valentino blinks the water trying to get into his eyes away, unable to stop the gasp that escapes him when Marc’s lips land on his neck, teeth grazing the skin, tongue following their path. The tips of Marc’s fingers travel down Valentino’s chest, and Valentino's breath hitches in his throat when they reach the mark, remaining there. 

“Can you feel it? The tingling?” Marc whispers, his lips closing around the shell of Valentino’s ear briefly.

Valentino can hardly think _because of the tingling._ Or not really tingling anymore, rather small electric shocks going through him, beginning where the mark is and radiating, spreading all over his body. “Yeah,” he answers, hands reaching behind Marc to linger where he knows Marc’s mark is, “Can you?”

Judging by how his hips buck forward and the whimper he lets out, Marc can.

The movement forces their cocks to brush too, and it’s almost too much to handle, the combined sensations evoking a wave of bliss of the kind Valentino’s never felt before. 

“Obviously,” Marc answers, panting into Valentino’s ear, but Valentino’s long forgotten what the question was. 

Doesn’t matter, he thinks, as the only thing that matters is the mess of hair, beautifully flushed skin, and evident arousal standing in front of him, clinging onto him and latching onto his skin with sinful lips. Altogether, it forms an image Valentino’s sure will be haunting him in his dreams, relentless and forceful. And he knows he’ll love every single second of it. 

He pushes Marc by the hips, lightly, but with enough force to have Marc’s back against the wall, small shudders running through Marc’s body. 

“It’s cold,” Marc mutters as a response to Valentino’s inquiring expression. 

“Sorry,” Valentino scatters kisses along Marc’s jaw, following the prominent bones, “I’ll warm you up.”

The light, joking tone may not transfer very well into his words, as his brain is barely working at this point and he’s running on instinct, on the lust that drives his lips and limbs into action. 

Marc’s response is a low murmur as he turns his head and catches Valentino’s lip between his teeth. 

Valentino has an idea what to do next, and he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t thought about it before. He’s not sure if that’s something Marc would like, though, not even Marc’s hard cock pressing against him convincing him fully. But he decides to give it a try, in the end, too far gone for overthinking and mulling over the decision, neither of them in the mood for waiting. 

“I haven’t done this in a while,” Valentino says when his knees hit the ground, “My skills might be rusty.” 

The warning is supposed to sound like a joke, when in truth, it isn’t, not entirely. 

He looks up at Marc, whose cheeks have become rosy for the first time this day, a similar shade also appearing on the rapidly expanding and falling chest. The hair is glued to Marc’s forehead, droplets of water clinging to his lashes even as he blinks, eyelids closed halfway. 

“Don’t think that’ll be a problem,” is Marc’s answer, his cock agreeing with what leaves the lips, twitching. 

_I hope so._

Valentino caresses Marc’s hip, palms then moving lower. He takes another look at Marc, and even though it’s not something Marc voices, that nod, Marc’s head bowing lower, is the final consent Valentino was looking for.

He sits on his heels, shifting so that the stream of water doesn’t get into his eyes directly. Marc’s legs are trembling slightly, the movement barely noticeable but something that catches Valentino’s attention. _You can’t be nervous, can you?_

He’s certain that’s not it, Marc doesn’t have a reason to be nervous, after all. If anything, Valentino should be nervous, the age, how skinny he is compared to Marc’s defined muscles, it all plays against him. But somehow, Marc’s reactions tell him otherwise, as if there wasn’t anything he should be worried about, as if there wasn’t anything he should be preoccupied with. And Valentino intends to show Marc the same exact thing, if his body’s response isn’t enough. 

“Move a bit,” he huffs against Marc’s thigh, humming approvingly when Marc’s legs fall further apart. 

Trailing kisses, starting from Marc’s knee, Valentino makes a path upwards. Gently, he nibbles on the inside of Marc’s thigh, then moving up to his crotch, where Valentino stops for a moment before repeating the procedure on the other leg. It’s teasing, the touch near but never near enough, and Marc’s palm wanders to Valentino’s hair to rest there, closing around the curls. 

Apparently, Valentino must be doing something right, as Marc’s hips buck, and his groan echoes against the walls loudly. 

“Valeee,” a whine gets out of Marc’s mouth, low and urgent. Valentino’s throat dries in an instant, that sound something that will be burned in his memory forever. “Stop teasing.”

“I’ve got you,” Valentino whispers in response, not sure if Marc hears any of it. He needs a few seconds to make the final decision, to force his body in action. And then, his lips fall open before closing again, this time around Marc. 

He tries to think of all the tricks he’s learned over the years, those little things he knows can make a person go crazy. Some little licks, a hand wrapping around the base of Marc’s cock, squeezing. Then, he lets his throat relax, and that’s when Marc’s fingers pull stronger on his hair, almost painful but not quite. The reactions he gets exceed all of his expectations, Marc shaking, shuddering, and Valentino loves every single one of those, wants more of them. So he does the next thing that comes to his mind, aside from stroking Marc’s rear softly, and hollows his cheeks. 

All the little whines, mixed with groans and some moans Marc makes, fill Valentino with some sort of pride that he’s able to reduce Marc to this state – panting and asking for more, the droplets of water on his face mixing with sweat. 

It goes on like that for a little while, Marc getting gradually louder the more Valentino bobs his head and massages Marc’s balls, but Valentino can’t tell how long it lasts. He’s lost the sense of time, and his own arousal getting more and more uncomfortable is the only indicator of the passing minutes. 

A little later, Marc’s hand cups his cheek, thumb stroking gently. “Enough,” Marc pants, his voice distorted by the splashing water. 

Valentino pulls away, but not before letting his tongue swirl on Marc’s flesh one last time, the moan he gets in return not failing to put a smirk on his lips. His jaw hurts a little, but that doesn’t stop him from kissing Marc once again, before they make their way out of the bathroom, rubbing the towels on their skin so the bedsheets aren’t damp when they finally land in them. 

They don’t care about the covers, throwing them to the floor hastily. Marc falls on the bed, a little less graceful that usually, a little more frantic, his left cheek on one of the pillows, arms below it. He’s glancing at Valentino over his shoulder, teeth pressing into the bottom lip teasingly, then he wriggles his hips. 

And this image knocks the air out of Valentino’s lungs. 

“Come here.” Marc reaches an arm towards him, and Valentino takes it without protest, allowing Marc to pull him closer. 

He ends up on his side, mesmerised by the view he has in front him. Marc’s muscles shift under his skin with each movement, something especially captivating when he stretches before hooking one of the legs over Valentino’s hip. 

Valentino’s breathing is becoming more erratic with each passing second, Marc’s fingers ghosting over his waist not making it any easier. It picks up even more speed when Marc glides his hand over Valentino’s chest, brushing over the nipples _accidentally,_ before moving lower, to rest between Valentino’s legs. 

The warmth on Valentino’s cheeks is definitely a result of how Marc’s name is ripped out of his throat. 

“I liked that,” Marc tells him, grin spreading wide. 

Valentino has the urge to kiss it off his face, the smugness looking a bit too good on Marc. He gives as good as he gets, only Marc’s hips actually push into his hand, and Marc doesn’t even try to conceal the groan forming Valentino’s name. He lets it out right into Valentino’s ear, and that’s enough for Valentino to almost break the skin on his lips, teeth sinking in so hard, and for any reason to almost fly out of his head, nothing but Marc and the tightness in his groin left. 

“Shit, you need to remember I’m old,” Valentino says hoarsely, voice hardly resembling its normal state. “I can’t go on like that.” 

Marc gives a very telling glance to Valentino’s crotch. “It sure doesn’t look like it.”

To that, Valentino has no answer. 

He almost chokes, breath hitching in his throat. Marc really is something else. Valentino wants to retaliate, say something back, but he’s lost for words, too busy focusing on Marc’s hand on himself, stroking, squeezing, driving him mad. 

This time it’s he who breaks the contact, well aware it won’t take too long for the bliss to overwhelm him if Marc continues his ministrations. 

Marc shifts so that he’s lying on his stomach again. “Go open the front pocket of my suitcase,” he orders, pointing to the corner of the room. 

For a second, Valentino wants to ask what for, his confusion rising, before he gets an idea what Marc might’ve asked for. And indeed, there he finds a small bottle full of scented gel. Unopened, the plastic sealing still intact. Next to it, there is a packet of condoms, and Valentino cannot hold the laugher in when he reads the label only to find them flavoured. “You planned this?”

“Planned, no,” Marc responds, purring when Valentino sucks on the side of his neck. “But I hoped.” 

_Hoped, huh? You weren’t the only one._

Valentino keeps that to himself, though, mouth too busy with something else. 

“I kinda wanted to have this,” suddenly, Marc points to the bottle that Valentino’s still twirling between the fingers, “in my hand baggage, so that we wouldn’t have to search for it later. But I decided against it, in case I had to go through a very thorough baggage inspection.” 

Valentino could swear his cheeks were burning, heating up instantly. _Hand baggage? Seriously?_ He’s hardly innocent, but the information Marc just provided him with forces the blood to rush both to his face and cock at the same time. 

“I’d like to see you during that inspection,” he says, the images already forming in his mind. 

In turn, Marc bites on Valentino’s lip, retaliating, teasing. “Maybe some other time. Now, how about you go make use of that lube?” 

Marc’s voice is a growl that goes straight to Valentino’s crotch, his cock twitching against his stomach. He has to repeat Marc’s question to himself, mind too clouded with pleasure, Marc’s scent, the dark of his eyes, the way his skin feels under Valentino’s fingers. 

Valentino takes another look at the lube. He’s turning the plastic bottle in his fingers, opening and closing it repeatedly, multiple times. “You sure?” 

_Do you trust me?_

“Vale.” Marc turns around so that he’s on his side again. The seriousness replaces the joking expression that’s been on his face for the past minutes as he catches Valentino’s jaw between his palms. “I’m horny, I want it. So if you want it too, go on. Or I’ll have to jerk off,” he says, staring at his hand, one of his eyebrows rising. “Stop stressing, okay?” 

He punctuates the last words with kisses to Valentino’s mouth, small and soft, reassuring as much as the words were. Valentino nods, and it must be good enough for Marc, since he falls on the bed again, spreading his legs apart. 

“Okay,” Valentino says, more to himself than to Marc. 

He opens the bottle, squeezing some of the lube on his palm, taking a whiff of the scent. Kind of fruity, kind of artificial, but not bad, he thinks. Then, he rubs the gel between his fingertips to warm it up, not wanting it to be a shock to Marc’s hot body. 

The mark is luring him with its darkness, and Valentino isn’t able to hold back; he has to reach out and stroke Marc’s asscheek with his clean hand, following the letters. Marc shivers under the touch, small tremble going through his body. Valentino feels strangely proud that Marc is equally affected by the mark, as much as he is, that they both react so strongly to it. 

“Get on with it, Vale, please,” Marc begs.

Valentino murmurs in response, not needing any more encouragement. “Mhm.” 

Marc’s hips arch when Valentino’s fingers find their way between Marc’s legs, pressing gently. Valentino’s careful, looking for any sign of discomfort as he shoves the digits in, then out, but soon he has Marc pushing back on them, the sight entrancing, making Valentino’s skin hotter, breath faster. 

“You’re gorgeous, you know it?” he whispers into Marc’s ear, trailing kisses along his jaw. Valentino’s never thought he’d have Marc like that, bare body splayed for him to admire, yearning to be touched, Marc letting him take over control. Wanting it, too. It still feels surreal

“Might’ve heard it a time or two.” 

Marc still tries to be cheeky, but the flush on his face and the breathless undertone of his voice tell just how affected he is. 

Valentino chuckles, moving his fingers just the right way, and the sass Marc tried to pull off gives way to the moans spilling from his lips.

The sight and the sounds Marc makes are almost too much for him, and Valentino can’t prevent himself from sneaking a hand to his cock, stroking himself lazily. His eyes shift focus from the mark to his fingers pushing in and pulling out of Marc’s body; the wave of satisfaction spreads through him when he crooks and rubs them on the right spot, Marc’s _there_ a confirmation of that. 

Like earlier, it’s Marc stopping him again, by reaching for the condoms, the sound of ripped foil entering their ears. 

Valentino feels Marc's eyes on himself as rolls one on, the little tremors of his fingers barely noticeable but definitely there. When he tries to get some more lube to slick his cock up, the bottle slips from his hold, falling on the sheets. He curses, trying to grab it quickly, when he hears Marc's snickering, withheld at first, before turning into a full-blown fit of giggles, not hindered in any way. 

"Laugh some more, and you'll have to get friendly with your hand tonight," Valentino threatens, but he isn't able to keep his composure either. 

The situation is bizarre, as they’re both naked and very clearly aroused, yet they’re laughing like fools, grinning at each other. 

"Sure, sure."

And, apparently, Valentino’s threat doesn’t work on Marc at all. 

A moment later, he sinks into Marc’s body, lips attached to the side of Marc’s neck the whole time. There are shivers going through all of his body when his cock is all the way in, and Valentino isn’t sure whether it’s something the marks should be blamed for, or if it’s Marc, their proximity, the movements of their hips being the reason. 

It’s something he probably should’ve expected, but it still surprises him a bit, how vocal Marc is. Demanding, telling exactly what he wants and how. The breathy _faster_ Marc whispers between one and another of Valentino's thrust is enough for Valentino's mind to cloud fully, every last rational thought leaving, replaced with Marc's voice, scent, the way his skin feels against Valentino's own, soft and hot; even the scars are not enough to tarnish the image of a gorgeous man Valentino has below himself. 

The sheets are getting crumpled where Marc’s fingers clutch on them, hold tight, getting even tighter when Valentino’s hips find a good angle, reach the right spot. 

Valentino grips Marc’s cock, trying to move his hand in time with his thrusts, but mostly failing, the pace not matching. It’s more sloppy than anything else. Marc doesn’t mind, Valentino guesses, if the way his hips move forward, then pushing backwards repeatedly are an indicator. 

When Marc moans louder than before, Valentino can feel the familiar tightness building up in his groin, the sensation growing in intensity. He doesn’t know what kind of nonsense he whispers into Marc’s ear, but it seems to work as Marc groans, loudly and lowly, hips jolting. 

Both the sheets and Valentino’s hand are getting covered in Marc’s release at the same time as Marc clenches on Valentino’s cock. Valentino jerks Marc off through it, his own movements getting more and more frantic. It doesn’t take much time, a few more thrusts, before Valentino’s body breaks into shudders, bliss spreading through his mind, blank with pleasure. He has just enough strength not to crash on Marc, legs barely supporting him when the orgasm washes over him. 

After coming down from his high, he falls next to Marc, his heartbeat begging to lose the rapid pace, thoughts starting to clear. He can feel Marc’s eyes on himself, studying him closely, but it takes a moment before Valentino dares to look back. 

“This looks nice on you,” Marc tells him, fingertips brushing over Valentino’s neck, eyes glinting with mischief.

Valentino doesn’t have to guess to know what Marc means, the bruise that must’ve formed on his neck. Similar to those Marc wears on himself. He catches Marc’s lips with his own, slowly this time, but deep, not as lustful as before, instead filled with something he doesn’t quite dare naming. 

“Pretty sure they look better on you than me,” Valentino says when Marc settles his head on Valentino’s chest. 

“Not as good as this, right?”

Marc’s hand is suddenly on Valentino’s hip, rubbing small circles there. It seems like there’s no getting used to the feeling that touching the mark evokes, but Valentino doesn’t mind in the slightest. The tingling is more than welcome, something he’s grown to enjoy, something that makes his head spin in the best of ways. He pulls Marc closer, their legs tangled now, stroking Marc’s mark with his thumb after Marc lies on his side. 

He has to agree with Marc on one thing, though. 

_The hickeys don’t look nearly as good as the marks do._

“You know what?” Marc adds as an afterthought. His smile borders on a smirk, and Valentino mentally prepares himself for what he’s going to hear. “Your skills are not rusty at all.” 

Marc winks, kissing him on the cheek, and snuggles up closer, lying halfway on the bed, halfway on Valentino’s body.

And Valentino smiles, certain that Marc is going to be the end of him, but not minding at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A pretty good way to celebrate, I'd say? :D Please forgive me one pwp chapter haha.  
> I wasn't sure how explicit this chapter should be, so I hope this works? Actually, writing this was more stressful than writing any regular chapter, so I'd love to hear from you!
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	21. Chapter 21

Surprisingly, Valentino is the first to wake up.

He doesn’t want to get up, rather preferring to laze around in bed with Marc’s body keeping him warm, even a little warmer than necessary. It’s been so long since he last felt like that. Since he allowed himself to feel like that, have another person so close, seek the closeness. But his bladder is insistent, very, so there’s nothing else he could do but throw the covers off and step towards the bathroom.

After turning the lights in the bathroom off, he contemplates what he should do now. He’s in a weird state. Not awake enough to function normally, but also not sleepy enough to fall in bed once again. Coffee. That’s what he needs. 

Valentino sits down in the kitchen, waiting for the room service to arrive. It’s still rather dark outside, he can’t exactly tell which hour it could be, and he can’t be bothered to check, either. Despite it, he feels well-rested, even if his arm is a little numb. He vaguely recalls Marc’s head lying on it, with Marc’s arm wrapped around his middle, too, and even though there’s no physical contact between them at the moment, Valentino stills feels the warmth. 

He’s already had a few sips of his coffee when he hears quiet steps, bare feet hitting the ground. 

“Morning,” Marc mutters, rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes. He’s still naked, and Valentino allows his eyes to roam over Marc’s body freely, admiring, then he laughs when Marc winks at him.

For a second, Valentino wonders if it isn’t another one of his dreams. He’s had a lot of those lately, Marc starring in each of them, different settings, but always ending with Valentino’s irregular breath and flushed skin. The dark splotches of colour on Marc’s neck are what finally convinces him that it isn’t sleepiness, a product of his imagination, but rather reality.

Leaning back on the chair, Valentino says his own greetings. “Morning to you, too.”

It’s hard for him not to stare when Marc stretches, arms up in the air, heels losing contact with the ground. It’s quite the sight. 

“I thought you saw me in the morning and ran away,” Marc jokes, trying to stop the yawn. He ruffles his hair, and Valentino wants to run his fingers through the strands, too, now that he knows how soft they are and how Marc enjoys it. He leaves it for later, makes a promise to himself, one he knows will be effortlessly easy to keep. 

“I tried, but you woke up too early. Coffee?” Valentino offers, instead. 

Marc takes the cup in his hand, ignoring all the chairs, sitting on Valentino’s lap instead. “Ugh, bitter.” He grimaces after taking a sip of the drink. “You haven’t heard of milk or sugar?”

Valentino’s certain that the expression he’s wearing must be scandalized. 

“You don’t know what’s good in life, kid.” Valentino takes the cup back, offended. He ends up laughing immediately after, hardly able to keep his composure when Marc’s looking at him in such a way, a full-blown grimace after tasting that coffee. 

Marc bites on Valentino’s lip teasingly. “I know _you_ are good,” he whispers, grinning, and Valentino finds himself pulling Marc closer, slipping his tongue in Marc’s mouth. 

It takes very little time for Marc to react, fast as always, their lips brushing teasingly. Valentino enjoys that little shiver shaking Marc’s body when he draws a line down Marc’s spine, rests his hands on Marc’s hips. And he’s slowly beginning to feel the excitement, too, Marc’s fingers tracing various patterns on his chest contributing to it greatly. 

But it seems like they can’t catch a break, as there’s a knock on the door, forcing them to stop. 

“No way,” Marc groans in displeasure. He throws his head back, exposing the neck, not wanting to let go. 

The view is gorgeous, something Valentino seemingly can’t get enough of. He kisses Marc one more time. Just because he wants. Just because he can. “Breakfast is here.”

Marc opens his mouth, probably to protest, but the growl coming from around his stomach silences him up. “Worst timing,” he complains, standing up from Valentino’s lap. Huffing, he moves, ready to go to the door, only to stop after a few steps. “Right.” He takes in his appearance, the lack of clothes, then glancing towards Valentino.

Valentino chuckles. “Wait here. I’ll take it.”

When he comes back, he sets the trays on the table, the smell filling the whole kitchen. It’s more than enough food for the two of them, possibly another person could get full, too, and for a moment, the only sound audible in the room is the cutlery clinking. 

“Vale?”

Marc’s voice is more quiet than usual, softer. It’s enough to raise Valentino’s suspicions instantly, something out of character, unusual. Valentino squeezes Marc’s hand, hopefully conveying the reassurance he’s trying to show through the gesture. “Yes?” 

There’s nothing teasing or sexy in the way Marc bites his own lip, tongue sliding over it immediately after. “I have a request,” Marc says, catching Valentino’s gaze.

All kinds of visions are swirling in Valentino’s mind after those words. Marc’s behaviour is making him feel a bit uneasy, so different to the Marc he had between the sheets yesterday, some of that confidence and cheekiness lost, making way for timidity that’s almost foreign on Marc. 

“Okay. What is it?” 

Valentino’s expecting to hear something he might not be able to comply with. Marc’s whole body language is hinting towards something like that, so he tries to prepare himself for whatever it might be.

Marc takes a deep breath. “I want a photo.”

Valentino can’t hide the surprise. _A photo? Really?_ “Of me?”

“Of us,” Marc clarifies. “You know, for those long, lonely nights when we won’t see each other. Can’t forget how you look.” He winks, what might’ve seemed nonchalant at first, probably what Marc was going for, but Valentino also finds something else there. He can’t tell what it is, but it’s definitely something. 

The request is unexpected, sure, but what catches Valentino by surprise even more, is how Marc didn’t just ask straight away, that he was hesitant. Marc who’s normally direct and doesn’t have problems asking for what he wants, _as Valentino found out the day before._ “Sure,” he agrees easily. “Now? Or later, when we’re both more or less dressed?”

They’re both still in various states of _undress,_ Valentino only in the underwear, Marc with nothing covering him _(and what a temping sight that is),_ so maybe they should pull something on, indeed. 

“I appreciate that you’d dress up for me,” Marc comments, the tips of his fingers slowly caressing Valentino’s collarbones, “but you look even nicer like this.” 

Then, he gets up and outside the kitchen, coming back with the phone in his hand, and immediately, Valentino has him back on his own lap. 

Marc presses his cheek against Valentino’s. “Smile!”

Valentino does, the task at hand not difficult when he has Marc wrapped around himself like that, and he’s getting distracted, letting his fingers run on Marc’s skin. The frame freezes, capturing them both. Marc opens it immediately to check how the photo turned out, zooming in on their faces. 

“Ah, best boyfriends.” He shoves the phone up in front of Valentino’s face. “Look how nice we are together.” 

And the photo is indeed nice, them pressed against each other, Marc’s arms wrapped around Valentino’s neck and the grins spreading wide on their faces. Valentino, though, is more focused on Marc’s words rather than what’s on the screen. “Boyfriends?”

Tilting his head, Marc blinks. “You don’t like me calling us boyfriends? Do you prefer partners? Or something else?”

_Giving names to what we have? Official, then?_

Valentino almost sighs, only stopping himself in the last moment, the _finally_ on the tip of his tongue. 

So he finally has the answer to what this thing between them is, a label to put on the relationship. Something he’s wanted, but didn’t dare bring up before Marc did. “Boyfriends is good,” he says, not able to resist giving Marc yet another kiss, not able to count how many they’ve shared since yesterday, but counting on many more to come. 

That little bit of coffee that’s still in his cup must be already cold, they spend so much time just enjoying each other’s presence, moving lips languidly, without being in a hurry, a rare occurrence in their otherwise hectic lives. 

Out of a sudden, a ringing sound reaches Valentino’s ears, somewhere from the other room. He must’ve left the phone there yesterday, entirely focused on Marc, nothing else on his mind. For a moment, he considers just leaving it like that, with Marc feeling so nice against him, but, reluctantly, he makes a move to stand up. “Sorry, I probably should get it.” 

“Cockblocked again,” Marc groans. “Can’t catch a break.” 

Valentino throws him an apologetic glance, his hand sliding over Marc’s shoulder as he walks over to get the phone. He picks it up, tempted to ignore the irritating sound, but, at the same time, aware that there’s always the possibility of something important happening. So in the end, he decides not to.

Uccio’s name is flashing on the screen.

Valentino’s heartrate speeds up, and not in a good way. He’s really not in the mood to deal with Uccio at the moment, no matter how much he cares about his friend. It’s just, Valentino knows what Uccio’s response would be to knowing where he is, and most importantly, with whom. And he wants to hear none of that. 

Reluctantly, he presses his thumb to the screen. “What’s going on?”

“Hello to you, too,” Uccio’s sarcastic response sounds through the speaker. “And it should be me asking what’s going on. What’s up with you?”

It’s demanding, requiring answers Valentino is not ready to give. He sits on the sofa, sliding down on it so that he’s actually half-lying, preparing for a long conversation. While usually it’s something he appreciates, in this moment Valentino curses Uccio’s determination and insistence. “I needed a short break. I’ll be back in two days.”

He explains nothing more, much to Uccio’s dissatisfaction. “Where are you?”

“You became a policeman while I’ve been away, now you’re making investigations and all?” Valentino jokes. Maybe it’ll be enough of a distraction, enough to change the topic, shift the conversation to a more neutral one. “How are the boys?”

“You know it’s not like that,” Uccio huffs, frustrated. “I’m just worried about you.”

_I know. But I can’t tell you a thing._

Valentino tries really hard not to sigh. “I’m good. Relaxing.” _Don’t try to dig deeper, please_ is hidden between the lines. 

He can sense that Uccio’s slightly offended, not only by how the words are phrased but also by the tone Uccio uses. “Okay, don’t tell if you don’t want to. Just,” Uccio pauses for a second, “Be careful, okay?” 

“I’m good. No need to worry.” _Please, leave the topic alone._ “I’m sorry, I have something to do now. I’ll catch up with you when I’m back, okay?” Valentino says the words in one breath, hoping it’ll create the sense of a hurry he’s trying to recreate to force Uccio to disconnect the call. 

Uccio doesn’t seem very keen on the idea, but without having much choice, he agrees. “Okay. See you at home.”

Valentino breathes a sigh of relief. “Ciao.” 

Putting the phone away, he walks back to the kitchen. Marc, of course, is waiting for him, one of his feet dangling above the floor, getting up instantly when their eyes meet. “Something happened?”

Valentino guesses that something must’ve shown on his face, that Marc caught it, as Marc grabs his hand, squeezing it. 

“Not really,” Valentino says. Technically speaking, nothing happened. “Uccio called,” he explains.

He doesn’t miss how Marc’s face loses some of its radiance, some of the glow. Valentino pulls him closer, enveloping Marc in an embrace, kissing him softly. _Don’t worry._

Marc looks up at him. “He doesn’t know.” 

It’s not a question.

Valentino doesn’t really know how to answer. Uccio doesn’t know, for obvious reasons. Can’t know, not now, and probably not for a while. Everything is still so fresh that Valentino wouldn’t dare telling him now, the reaction more than probably a negative one on Uccio’s side.

But he sees what’s going on with Marc, even if Marc’s trying to conceal it by flashing a smile. It’s not only too wide, it also doesn’t reach his eyes, strangely serious, lacking the mischievousness Valentino could take notice of both yesterday and today, up until that call. And he finds himself torn between one man and the other, between his best friend since childhood, who’s been there for him through thick and thin, and the man who, somehow, has managed to melt him once again, someone who perhaps could be his _forever._

“I think for now it’s better if he doesn’t know. He’s not very fond of you,” Valentino says heavily.

_Unlike me._

Marc chuckles, without much humour. “Yeah, I noticed.” 

It bothers Valentino, how the atmosphere has changed, how Marc’s expression has too. The smile is still there, curving Marc’s lips, but it lost some of its brightness, and Valentino feels the guilt creeping up, the responsibility for taking some of it away. _I’m sorry._

But there is something that maybe could change it a bit, make Marc feel less like a dirty secret, as Valentino suspects he might feel like. 

He pulls Marc closer, their sides now touching, and the intimacy is blissfully easy, natural. “Luca knows.”

“You told him?” Marc asks, eyelids fluttering open.

It takes a lot not to press their lips together, but it’s not the time, a more serious moment needed now. 

Valentino nods. “He’s known for a while. And he gave me the kicks to act when I needed them. Without him, I probably wouldn’t have given us a chance,” he confesses, eternally grateful for the kind of little brother he has. Without Luca, he probably wouldn’t be where he is now, with Marc by his side, sharing thoughts, sharing kisses. _I might be older, but Luca’s certainly wiser at times._

And if Valentino had to tell, he’d say this new piece of information does manage to lift Marc’s mood. 

“Next time I see him,” Marc’s grin is leaning dangerously close to something Valentino thinks he might not like, “’I’ll have to ask Luca about those baby photos.”

“I’m pretty sure googling them would do the trick,” Valentino says. “God knows what kind of embarrassing stuff you could find on the Internet.” 

But surprisingly, he can imagine Marc and Luca meeting each other. On a neutral ground, away from the tracks, away from racing. And, he realizes, he’d like them to meet, properly, two of the most important men in his life. 

_I’ll have to arrange it,_ he thinks, first plans already forming in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Immediately after the race, I didn't feel like posting a chapter at all. But then I got more than 2 hours of sleep and I changed my mind. Marc and Vale actually talking to each other (finally!) is my highlight of the weekend and I think it's so important that it deserves a bit of fluff, so here's the chapter.
> 
> Thank you for reading <3


	22. Chapter 22

_Sepang 2017 testing_

For once, it’s not only the possibility of finally riding a bike that makes Valentino so eager for that testing to finally come, to finally be back in the paddock. It’s also the fact that Marc will be there, that they’ll finally see each other again that has him all fidgety during the flight, a foot tapping on the floor, fingers drumming against the armrest. 

During the past month, they’ve seen each other only once in person, and both phone and Skype calls are good but just not enough. Even if that video of a New Year’s kiss Marc sent him might’ve been both the cringiest and the sweetest thing Valentino received in a long while. But still, it’s not the same.

Valentino takes a look out of the window, wishing the ground was closer, the airport nearer. He knows Marc should arrive earlier than him, it was one of the topics of their last almost hour-long talk, both of them wanting the distance separating them to be finally gone. 

He can’t resist taking a look at that photo they took in that hotel kitchen, grinning. _Soon,_ he thinks, _a few more hours, and I’ll get to see you again._

Uccio’s sudden snore startles him, and Valentino locks the phone immediately, afraid of being caught. Thankfully, it’s not the case, as Uccio falls back into a slumber while Valentino clutches a hand over his heart.

Fuck. So close. 

Quickly, Valentino slips the phone back to his pocket, not risking it again. For the rest of the flight, he alternates between trying to sleep and trying to watch some movies, not really paying attention, with only Marc occupying his thoughts. 

*

Five minutes after getting out of the airport, Valentino feels his phone vibrating, signalling he got a new message.

_“Your room number?”_ he finds the text attached to Marc’s name. 

It’s hard not to grin, although Valentino tries to keep it tame, not wanting to raise Uccio’s suspicions. They need to be careful, he needs to remember about it, even when he’s almost giddy with anticipation. Can’t let anyone notice anything, though. 

His fingers move quickly, forming a reply. _“No idea, I’m on my way there. Why, you want to visit?”_

Valentino’s sure Marc won’t miss the flirty hint he was going for. The messages he’s been getting from Marc, now those were more than just flirty, more than just implying. They were _daring,_ daring him to do the things Marc wants him to do, and Valentino may be old and experienced, but even he found his cheeks warming up once or twice. 

He waits for a moment for the answer, the buildings outside of the car moving too slow for his liking.

_“Sure I do. Mine’s 46 jajaja,”_ Marc texts him, followed by a winking emoji.

Okay, now Valentino’s definitely grinning. _“I’ll text you mine the moment I’m there,”_ he writes back, his mood lifted. He doesn’t know when Marc became an expert at that, making him feel happier, but it looks like the way the things are now. 

*

Sadly, his room number isn’t 93. That would’ve been too much of a coincidence, he thinks. Uccio would have probably made sure to have it changed immediately, too, but Valentino still laughs when Marc sends him a series of sad emojis after finding out it’s not his number. 

Valentino’s barely managed to settle in the room before the knock stops him in the middle of unpacking. It’s an unusual time, he still has some minutes left before he has to go out, so he opens the door without knowing what to expect. 

Marc pushes past him quickly, then pushes his lips against Valentino’s in a greeting that is heartfelt, longing and passionate at once. 

“Finally,” Marc murmurs against the flesh of Valentino’s neck, his breath tickling. 

“Did you miss me so much?” Valentino jokes, but Marc nods immediately, without hesitation.

He also lets his hand wander to Valentino’s back, under the edge of the shirt, then lower, pushing his fingers in the loops of Valentino’s jeans. “Sure, I did,” he says, voice dropping. 

It’s enough for Valentino’s interest to peak, that almost purr something he’s grown to love so much. He can’t resist pulling Marc even closer, more than just enjoying the closeness. The schedule, though, he knows Uccio will be here soon, banging on the door, and there’s no way he’s letting Marc and Uccio meet. 

“I only have fifteen minutes for you,” Valentino whispers into Marc’s hair, his voice apologetic. He knows that tone, Marc has used it on him before, but no matter how much he’d like to give Marc what he wants, at the moment he really can’t. “I need to go to a team dinner.”

Marc huffs. “Because of Maverick?”

It’s clear he’s not happy with the turn of events. Valentino coaxes him into a kiss, almost grinning when Marc’s lips fall open willingly, their tongues brushing for a moment. 

“Probably,” he says. “I think they don’t want things to escalate between us, like it happened with Jorge.”

Marc nods, understanding. He’s a bit more serious now, something that doesn’t escape Valentino’s attention, but he asks another question. “How is he? As a teammate, I mean.”

Valentino takes a moment to think before he responds. “So far, he’s still all wide eyes and a bit lost at times. Very fast, too.” 

Almost too fast for a guy who just swung a leg over that bike only once, he thinks. 

“Mhm,” Marc hums. “You’re afraid he’ll kick your ass?” He can’t pass the occasion to tease, and Valentino smirks back at him, amused by what he’s hearing, by what Marc is implying.

After Jorge, he’s hardly worried about what he may come against this season. Not disregarding anyone, obviously, not looking down on anyone, but he also expects a calmer atmosphere. Less stress. He’s had enough of that, really, he’d rather avoid any source of it, if possible. Maverick seems much calmer than Jorge’s ever been, and Valentino has the hope of it being the reality, of not having to deal with anything more but pure racing. 

“I think we all should be afraid of you,” he says after a short pause. 

There’s a tinge of pink on Marc’s cheeks after those words, just a hint of it on the top of his bones that Valentino catches a glimpse of easily. And this bashful Marc is something he rarely gets to witness, usually it’s all that air of confidence and jokes, but it never fails to make Valentino smile, it never fails to soften him up. 

A moment passes before Marc breaks the silence again. “I won’t go down without a fight.”

_Oh, I’m sure._

“Same,” Valentino tells him, reminded of the battles they’ve had. Now that they’re in a relationship, sharing a track with Marc is both a thrilling perspective and also something that evokes some worries, some _what ifs_ concerning racing that either of them could deem a bit too hard. A bit too aggressive. 

“I’m counting on it,” Marc says, that moment of shyness now gone. 

Valentino wants to agree, that he’s counting on it, too, but the buzzing of the phone in his pocket reminds him how little time he has left for Marc now. He doesn’t even attempt to conceal the regret in his voice, when he tells Marc that they need to part now, that there’s no more time. “I’m sorry, but Uccio could come here any moment.”

“Uccio, right.” Valentino hates seeing Marc’s face like that, that badly hidden disappointment. “When will I see you again?”

“This evening? After the dinner?” _So I can make it up to you?_

The answer seems good enough for Marc, as he says his goodbye, not letting the opportunity to kiss Valentino one last time slip. 

*

During the dinner, he’s somewhere else with his thoughts. This team bonding feels a little forced to him, and he’d rather spend his time doing something else, not listening to the jokes he’s heard before, but which are being retold again because Maverick hasn’t yet. He catches Lin’s gaze on the other end of the table, frowning at being watched so closely. 

“Are you okay?”

Valentino comes back from his daydream, finding Maverick’s eyes on himself. “Huh?”

The kid has the audacity to look concerned. Maybe not yet fully tainted by the environment they live in, Valentino guesses, but it’s certainly not something he needs. Especially from a teammate.

“Is everything all right?” Maverick repeats, this time less sure. 

Valentino puts an arm on his shoulder. “Sure it is.” He grins. “You’re excited for tomorrow?” 

They fall into an easy conversation, surprisingly, and Valentino finds Maverick’s presence to be a breath of fresh air after what he had to go through when it was Jorge on the other side of the box. Maybe this time he’ll manage to avoid all that drama, he’s had enough of it in the past years. He has better things to think about. Like that meeting with Marc later, after this dinner ends.

 

*

After finally managing to free himself from the team, Valentino’s in his room, tapping his foot, waiting. Marc could be here any moment, that’s what he said when Valentino gave him a call, telling that he finally had time, that there was nothing holding him back anymore. 

He jumps up when he hears the knock, running to the door, only to be faced with a disappointment. It takes the form of Uccio, the signature cap on his head, in what looks like a sour mood, the furrowed brows an obvious sign.

“What?” Uccio asks him, eyes following the lines of Valentino’s face a little too closely. “You were waiting for someone?”

Valentino tenses. “No, of course not.” 

He moves aside as Uccio pushes past him, going over to one of the armchairs immediately. Valentino cannot exactly tell him to get out, even though it crosses his thoughts, but Uccio makes himself comfortable a bit too quickly for his liking, as if it were his own room, not Valentino’s. 

However, there’s one more thing Valentino needs to take care of if he doesn’t want to find himself in the middle of a disaster. 

_“I’m sorry,”_ he texts Marc quckly, hoping it’s not too late and that Marc hasn’t left his hotel room yet, _“Uccio came over.”_

“Don’t get too friendly with him,” Uccio says out of a sudden, changing the tv channel.

Valentino’s heart is in his throat. Uccio can’t know, can he? There’s no way for him to have figured anything out, it can’t be the case. He’s been careful, he made sure not let anything show in Uccio’s presence, so is it possible that…? “Who?” 

He hopes his calm façade won’t fall, that nothing will show on his face as he’s aware Uccio would catch it, the years they’ve known each other for making it easy to decode the expressions. He pretends to be focused on the tv show that’s currently playing even though he understands nothing at all, just so he doesn’t have to look at his friend.

“The Spanish kid,” Uccio clarifies. 

Valentino pretends not to know who Uccio is talking about and he’s never been so happy for the influx of the young Spanish riders, allowing him to play dumb like that. 

Uccio’s patience seems to be wearing thin as he turns the tv off, frowning. “Your teammate, Vale,” he deadpans. 

Oh. Maverick, then. Not Marc. 

Valentino could’ve sworn he had a tiny heart attack, it’s beating so fast in his chest. “I’m not trading you for a younger friend, don’t worry,” he laughs Uccio’s words off, praying that his grin is more convincing than it feels. 

“Just be careful,” Uccio warns him. “You don’t want a repeat of 2015, do you?”

The mere thought of that season has Valentino feeling the nausea, the acid in his mouth. “No, I don’t.”

_And you don’t know what you’re talking about._

*

It’s not until almost midnight that Valentino manages to free himself from Uccio’s company, the eyes that watch him a bit too closely, as if searching for something. He pats his friend on the back on Uccio’s way out, and then he immediately lets Marc know, hoping it’s not too late, that his boyfriend isn’t asleep yet.

_Boyfriend._

Valentino still hasn’t fully got used to it, as it’s not something he often gets the chance to say, but he likes how the word sounds on his lips. And he likes it even more, how it sounds on Marc’s. 

“I hoped we’d have more time to ourselves today,” Marc whines, lips pressed to the side of Valentino’s neck.

“No marks today,” Valentino scolds jokingly, obviously without much effect as Marc only grins at him. “I’m sorry, I hoped so too,” he adds, more than a little annoyed at both Yamaha and Uccio for ruining the plans he’s had for himself and Marc, for taking so much of his time. 

Marc pulls on the edge of Valentino’s shirt “I see a mark here,” he rubs the dark lines on Valentino’s hips. “Want to see mine?” he then asks, lying on his stomach and lowering his pants a bit, winking at the same time. 

_I want to see everything of you,_ Valentino thinks, _whatever you want to show me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter is kind of all over the place, but that's how I've been lately, sorry!
> 
> I'd like to thank you all for this whole season, for following this fic. I write each chapter thinking of you, I'm incredibly grateful for all the support, it's what keeps me going and you're the best! I'm not too happy about how today went, but maybe the new chapter can be a little consolation for that. 
> 
> Thank you for everything <3

**Author's Note:**

> Find me at 4693words.tumblr.com


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